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\SecJ>a°c a p] 


In High PI aces 

By 

DOLORES BACON 

Author of 

“Crumbs and His Times,’ * “A King’s Divinity,’’ etc. 


Illustrated by 

GEORGE L. TOBIN 



New York 

Doubleday, Page & Company 
1907 


VUSRARY o? CONGRESS 
i t wo Cooies Received 



Copyright, 1907, by 
Dodbleday, Page & Company 
Published, September, 1907 


All Rights Reserved 

Including that of Translation into Foreign Languages 
Including the Scandinavian 


DEDICATED TO 

SIR WILLIAM AND LADY VAUDREY 


















PEOPLE OF THE STORY 


Rosalie: An inconsequent woman who wrecks a world, and 
who, incidentally, demonstrates that “race-suicide” is 
a failure. 

Jean Merideth: A woman who earns her salary and inci- 
dentally shows a man the sort of a woman to live up 
to. 


Rebecca Wolfschon: Who proves that there is still some- 
thing to be said for the good old-fashioned way. 

Louis Wolfschon: The fighting Jew whose heritage and 
millions and his knowledge of what to do with them, 
show what the world is coming to. 

Aline-Elisabeth: Of no consequence at all, but makes con- 
siderable stir in the world, and shows how easy it is 
for one small woman to kill one big man. 

Trowbridge Drayton: The American gentleman as God 
meant him, and as an American wife made him. 

Stebbins: Just as you find him. 

Baron Erleicher: Who shows how finance, despite men, 
women and gods, does rule this earth. 

Henley: Just like lots of others. 

Christopher Brun: Who knows the meaning of the brother- 
hood of man. 

Johann Loscher: The lover, whom all the world loves. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Second Fiddle and Some Others . . 3 

II. How Low-life Wagged That Day . . 40 

III. How Low-life Met the Obligation . . 57 

IV. The Way High-life Was Conducting Itself 

Meanwhile ..... 69 

V. The Way of a Wife with a Man . . 83 

VI. How High-life Meets Its Sacrificial Obligations 115 

VII. “You Can Lead a Horse to Water ” . 123 

VIII. How the Jew’s World Wags! . . . 128 

IX. How Low-life Took Its Tragedies . .145 

X. When a Man’s Married . . . 165 

XI. When a Man Comes Into His Own . .183 

XII. When a Man Plans 187 

XIII. When a Woman Plans . . .194 

XIV. Quite en Famille . .199 

XV. When a Man Sees .... 204 

XVI. When a Man’s a Man for a’ That . . 216 

XVII. A Woman in Love ..... 227 

XVIII. When Jean Got to Work . . . 236 

XIX. And Finally, When She Loves . . .251 

XX. As to That and Other Details . . 266 


CHAPTER 

IN HIGH PLACES 

PAGE 

XXI. 

And Finally, How She Loves . 

2 75 

XXII. 

How They Both Looked at It 

287 

XXIII. 

How Christopher Looked at It 

292 

XXIV. 

How Henley Looked at It . 

3°6 

XXV. 

When Aline-Elisabeth Got Herself Found . 

3 1 4 

XXVI. 

When Drayton Set His House in Order 

3 2 4 

XXVII. 

How It Came to the Second Fiddle 

3 2 9 

XXVIII. 

The Ruling Passion, Strong 

333 

XXIX. 

When Rebecca Trained Fate . 

34i 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘Then the door opened and Rosalie petalled in” 

Frontispiece 

PACING PAGE 

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to know 

something about Drayton’s affairs’” . . 88 

‘ Drayton felt himself especially favoured of 

God” . . . . . . 94 ' 

‘With her hand upon the knob, she turned and 

smiled at Drayton” 120 







$ 




IN HIGH PLACES 





IN HIGH PLACES 


CHAPTER I 

THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 

I T WAS ten minutes past five o'clock, on Christmas 
Eve, when Johann Loscher took his hat from the 
table, preparatory to going to the thirty-five-cent table 
d’hdte where he and Christopher played — under 
limitations of the musical union — for a part of their 
daily bread. The union was a sore trial to Chris- 
topher, and he always spelled it large. 

“When I am weary and would wish to blay offer time 
to rest me at der table d’hote, they tell me the union 
will loose me mein job. Der music must be blayed by 
der yard alreatty — schon! — yet, I like America.” 

But then Christopher liked all things well except the 
union; and one time he had found excuse for it: 

“It makes der lazy folks blay, if it makes der blayful 
folks lazy.” 

Now Christopher turned the gas low in the two rooms 
while Loscher stood waiting, and wound the woollen 
muffler about his neck and turned up the collar of his 
greatcoat. After tucking the fiddle beneath his arm 
more snugly, and laying both hands upon it, he looked 
about the room to see if all was as it should be. The lap- 
dog, lately brightened and waiting to be curled, was too 
far from the fire, and Christopher moved its basket to the 
hearth; then the two men went out, locking the door 

3 


4 


IN HIGH PLACES 


behind them. They walked across town from Second 
Avenue and took the elevated train at Houston Street; 
then, ten minutes later, within a little room off the 
kitchen of a cheap, half-uptown table d’hote, the men 
unwound themselves and their fiddles and sat a-tuning, 
all absorbed and alone, 

Christopher liked to be the first to come and the last 
to go: he loved his violin and the music and the people 
who ate at the table d’hote. Besides, the longer he ab- 
sented himself from the two rooms which were home to 
him and his friend Loscher, the more pleasure he had in 
his return. Hence, protracted absences were one of his 
perverse ways of pampering himself. 

When the Germans entered the restaurant, it seemed 
more luminous to Christopher than ever, although the 
place found favour with him under all circumstances; 
his interests lay there, and by some trick of the mind he 
had long since made even the grease-spots on the floor 
his own; and what was more, he valued them. 

The four, painful, evergreen wreaths there, meaning 
Christmas and extra cheer, made his responsive soul 
elate. On the north side of the room, near to the screen 
that stood between the diners and chaos, were three 
additional gas jets, lighted. These gas jets were not 
generally used for illuminative purposes: the waiters 
slung limp towels over them — towels with which they 
sopped up things. 

Christopher smiled; and as he smiled his soft eyes 
narrowed. He leaned his head caressingly to the left 
and fiddled a festive impromptu. Then while still in 
action, he kicked a chair to one side to make room for 
the First Violin who came from that chaos which lay 
behind the screen. He was wiping the Hofbrau from a 
fierce whisker. Christopher was not even First Violin; 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 5 


the First Violin was also director. Christopher envied 
him that superior position, not because of the difference 
in salary, not for its glory, but because he would be in a 
way to take such mild liberties with the schedule and 
the score as his varying moods should urge. 

For the young man who was addicted to the third 
table from the door, left of the cashier’s desk, and whose 
habit it was to beautify his finger-nails with the tooth- 
picks that occupied an eviscerated “safety-match” box 
near the wall — for him, Christopher could wish to add 
certain accidentals in the sharp line ; certain demi-semi- 
quavers which should so properly correspond to the curl 
upon the fastidious young man’s forehead. 

For the absorbed, intent woman in the comer, who 
always sat long over a tiny glass of kirsch when all was 
over but the going home, and whose musicianly fingers 
involuntarily performed on the middle of the tablecloth 
between the courses — for her he would have worried 
counterpoint a little. And had he been First Violin 
instead of Second Fiddle, Christopher, without regard 
to the union, would have played overtime for the 
tired, silent girl in the shabby black gown, who ate far 
back, near to chaos and to him, and who stayed till almost 
all were gone, watching him wistfully while trying to 
rest for an hour from that which wearied her. For her, 
Christopher would have played 44 Two Roses ” and maybe 
Schumann’s 44 Abendlied.” And as the diners assembled 
slowly, Christopher had to restrain himself with much 
effort lest he call out to each guest as he came: 44 Merry 
Christmas.” He hoped that the First Violin would 
think it germane as well as German to play 44 Die Wacht 
am Rhein” before they should play 44 Home, Sweet 
Home” at ten o’clock; the orchestra played an hour 
later on such a night as this. 


6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


The German family who kept the delicatessen store 
over on Third Avenue, and who always came en jamille 
on fete days, arrived — six sharp — and nodded joyously, 
ad libitum ; and they ate clear through to the bitter end 
of the table d’hdte, by which is implied Newark cheese 
“de Brie.” 

Christopher nodded violently as the family convened, 
and his eyes narrowed till they became mere jovial slits, 
as he smiled and smiled unrestrainedly upon four little 
delicatessens with matched hair in “plats.” Tech- 
nically, their coiffure was known as “Louisa braids” 
— and Christopher elided the o and otherwise gave the 
words a French turn, thus: “L'uisa praids.” 

He twinkled meaningly upon the grown-ups, and once 
between “After the Ball” and “Elsa’s Dream,” he 
shook hands with himself under cover of the dirty-dishes 
tray which stood upon some folding spindle legs just at 
his right upper comer. All night he was happy and 
tender of heart, and when the waiter with the squint 
dropped a tray full of glasses, Christopher was near to 
tears with joy, since it enabled him to wink violently 
and otherwise distort his fine features and make queer 
motions till the distracted man came to his side; 
whereupon Christopher was able to pay the squint-eyed 
fellow twice the price of the glasses, 'neath the friendly 
shelter of the dirty-dishes tray. 

Oh dirty-dishes tray! Thou wert glorified by the deeds 
done ’neath thy sweating malodorous surface in the 
name of Universal Love and the Second Fiddle. 

But now came a pause in the affairs of the table d’hdte. 
The proprietor served gratis on such gala nights as these, 
a charged mixture of feeble colour which resembled in 
the bottle a beautiful dry champagne. It was beautiful 
to the eye — and to the ear when the cork popped; and 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 7 


on such occasions as Christmas Eve, when the mind was 
distracted by anticipation and supererogation, it could 
be drunk. 

The vivacious young man, third table from the en- 
trance, poised his glass high with brave abandon and 
the manner of a connoisseur so suited to his child-of-the- 
ribbon-counter air. The bottle with its gold-foil top 
could not better have served its purpose with the tired 
and wistful girl back by the wet-towel gas jets had it 
held champagne pure and simple instead of gas, water 
and other things, so impure and complex. She watched 
with simple interest the waiter’s preparations as he 
anticipated the struggle with the cork by throttling the 
bottle with a damp napkin. 

And now the orchestra became silent, the four small 
delicatessens quivered from “L’uisa praids” to the hems 
of their red-barred blue and green frocks, and the intent 
girl who was abstractedly playing a concerto in the 
middle of the table missed a bar while her eyes were 
fixed with deep regard upon the operation that was tak- 
ing place in the middle of the dining room. Presently 
the waiter applied the corkscrew — and then the intent 
girl turned her face away: the unities must be preserved 
if her attention was to be engaged; she had seen real 
champagne opened (for other people) and she knew 
there was no affiliation between the real champagne 
bottles and corkscrews. 

Presently it was done, and the sparkles more or less 
escaped into the damp napkin and down the trousers of 
the incautious waiter. His trousers, could they have 
been analysed, would have proved to be the very 
pousse caj6 of breeches, and simultaneously with the 
charging of the glasses, the warm proprietor of the 
restaurant appeared from the screened-off chaos, with 


8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


his own glass held high, and a five-dollar-a-bottle 
countenance. 

The scene was too inspiriting, too full of the cham- 
pagne of human kindness for self-repression ; and Chris- 
topher felt tears of happiness and festivity gather in his 
gentle eyes, while all unconsciously he fingered his violin, 
and the spirit of “Die Wacht am Rhein” trembled upon 
the strings. At that instant a man opened the outer 
door and stood just within, filling the picture, as his 
brilliant eyes met Christopher's. It was enough I The 
smoulder of good cheer and human passion became a 
conflagration, and every voice took up the regnant 
measure while the orchestra swelled and swelled with 
joy and rhythm till finally it gave up its emotion in the 
splendid resonance of German voices: 

“ Es braust ein Ruf wie Donnerhall 

Drayton stood a moment, the door partly open behind 
him, the fresh, cold winter air rushing in to greet the 
robust harmonies. Christopher had leaped to his feet 
when the man appeared, and stood with a look of invita- 
tion upon his face. Drayton gently closed the door and 
made his way to a vacant table. 

11 Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, sum Deutschen Rhein t” 
Christopher sang, while Drayton nodded at Johann 
Loscher, who regarded everything with a gracious and 
sentimental smile. When he sat down, he reached over 
and shook hands with Christopher. He sat uncon- 
sciously near to the tired girl who always found the 
place nearest to Christopher's great shoulder. Drayton 
ordered something and sat looking about him, mostly 
with a steady, contemplative expression, hardly dwelling 
longer upon one face than upon another. When he 
looked at the German, the gleam of fellowship invariably 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 9 


softened his face. He sat and smoked, his hands clasped 
upon the table, and the tired girl just before him. Dray- 
ton had been here many times before though never on 
a Christmas Eve. He had seen the girl before, but was 
unimpressed. Presently, in an intermission, Christopher 
leaned toward Johann. 

“Johann, is der Fr&ulein looking so sad to-night, 
nein f" His tone was full of anxiety and caressing. 
Johann had almost continually regarded the object of 
Christopher's solicitude since she had taken her place at 
the table. She had given him something by way of 
glance that had distinctly implied a greeting; but there 
had been no nod of the head; no real salutation of any 
sort had passed between them that could have been 
apparent to the disinterested, least of all could the 
friendly passage have been noted by Christopher, whose 
thoughtfulness was so impersonal. 

“ I think she is not happy, but if she is more unhappy 
ass yesterday, it is because it is Christmastime and gay, 
while her feelings are in more contrast already. < 

“I would like to know what she does do; nein /" he 
added quickly, as Johann looked at him with some sur- 
prise and interrogation. “I would not learn der Frau- 
lein's secrets, but only to serf her. If she is poor maybe, 
and she sews der trowsers or neckties, fellows like us 
would need so many ass, to make her lifting: we men eat 
too much and such little Madchens not enough." 

“She teaches German to American children," Johann 
offered, laconically. 

“Ach! Where did you know that?" 

Johann shook his head and shrugged his shoulders and 
returned to his fiddle, welcoming at that juncture an 
orchestral demand. Christopher hugged his instrument 
under his chin and thought of the young girl. He 


IO 


IN HIGH PLACES 


interpreted Johann’s action as LOscher had meant him 
to: as forgetfulness, indifference, irresponsibility. 

“Then,” said Christopher to himself, “sometimes her 
pupils die or go away or get sick, and that is why she 
cannot eat always much.” The reason for this thought 
lay in an action of Christopher’s that dated a month 
back — a secret, tender action, all devoid of selfish pur- 
pose. One night a month before this, Kranich, the 
proprietor, had said to him upon seeing the lonely girl 
leaving the place: 

“She will not come at all after a while; she gets 
poorer all of the time. She cannot take the twenty-cent 
breakfast like she used to. She orders coffee for five 
cents. She no longer comes for luncheon, or takes the 
regular dinner.” After thinking of this for a night, 
Christopher had said to Kranich: 

“Serf der Fraulein der whole breakfast and tell her 
she must come for lunch. Tell her that when peoples 
haff come to your blace — how long is it she hass come, 
Kranich?” 

“Seven months.” 

“When beople haff come to your blace for seffen 
months, you always serf der two meals for nothing.” 

“But the girl will know better, Brun,” Kranich had 
answered. 

“Der Fraulein hass no sense. She will belief what 
effer you tell her if you tell her right. I will pay by der 
week. Von week now.” After a hasty computation, 
he had passed the money to Kranich on the spot. 

“Hey — and Kranich! You say noddings to nobody,” 
he had added, and Kranich had winked. Christopher 
had not found it necessary to report this happening to 
Johann. Later Kranich had mentioned to Christopher: 

“It was as you said: the girl don’t know nothing — 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS n 


not anything. Not a blamed thing except the German 
language. She eats all her appetite allows and that 
isn’t much.” 

The fragile form, the girl’s soft, appealing eye and 
occasional gentle smile as she sat in the place looking 
about her like one wholly apart, had grown into Chris- 
topher’s heart till of late the thought of her had been 
with him sleeping or waking. His affection prompted a 
fine tactfulness which made him disguise his feeling, to 
keep it from his glance, to look at her quite unobtrusively, 
to speak of her never — not even to Johann, To-night 
was the first time she had been mentioned between them, 
but their few words revealed that neither had been 
ignorant of her existence. 

While Christopher played, he regarded the wistful 
girl slantwise across his massive shoulder, and he felt 
pleased to have Drayton sitting so near to her: his was 
a grave, refining presence, fairly illuminating the com- 
mon dingy place. 

After a time the glimmer of a smile crept into the 
girl’s face, and Christopher at once responded with a 
broad, welcoming expression and involuntarily nodded 
at her in quiet recognition of their good understanding 
and her mild confidence. Christopher seemed to choke 
with a great swelling of the heart. His touch upon the 
strings became more pathetic; because, even to a soul 
like his — ever young, ever gay, his smiles and tears cross- 
ing — seven nights in the week of music chosen to suit 
the diners in a place like this, played by men whose 
inspiration brought them no more than seven dollars a 
week, must reduce to mediocrity the veriest genius that 
ever lived. 

All had passed in a moment. Neither the wistful girl 
nor Christopher were conscious of any unusual or notable 


IN HIGH PLACES 


i 2 

passage between them. The moment but served to 
crystallise in Christopher an honest, protective love for 
the young woman: a love that had taken its place within 
his heart so quietly, so naturally, so irrevocably, that he 
had been conscious only of a genial warmth which now 
became a fervent glow. He glanced at Johann, whose 
melancholy eyes, too, had grown peculiarly brilliant and 
eloquent. 

“ Ach ! How mein Johann feels the beautiful night,” 
Christopher thought. And then with his eyes upon the 
girl, whose pathos of expression seemed to-night to be 
emphasised, his fingers once more went the way of his 
emotions, and again the shadow of the Fatherland 
trembled upon the strings: 


^ 1 » 



If 0 j— 

"I — I — J 1" n "J 1 

—» r — t —1 n — n-"N- ft — -vr ' iv — 


r v i K J A i nr. Jr-- 


1 V - J 

M 




he merely breathed. But to-night was a time of emo- 
tional jugglery, and the schedule was forgot and the 
peculiar accord of hearts spoke harmoniously from the 
instruments. The First Violin played an instant with 
the theme, then Christopher fell into place, while Johann 
and the Bass Viol picked it up: Drayton turned his head 
suddenly sidewise, his eyes half closed, and for a moment 
knives and forks rested and the omnibus paused with 
his arms piled high with fragmentary messes that had 
served their turn and had now become history. A 
waiter with the coffee became inactive altogether and 
permitted the dozen of demi t asses to cool, while his 
heart grew warm. 

While Christopher’s eyes were upon his bow, a sudden 
unrepressed sob caused him to thrill painfully from top to 
toe. He turned too quickly to see Johann’s eager movement 
— only to see the girl leave her chair and go hastily out. 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 13 

Drayton’s eyes also sympathetically followed her. 
Then he looked at Johann and Christopher and ob- 
served in each what neither had surprised as yet in the 
other. 

44 Heimweh ! ” said Drayton aside to Christopher, but he 
looked with unintentional meaning into the younger 
man’s face, Johann blushed as easily as a girl. Chris- 
topher nodded. 

44 1 haff hurt her with der tune,” he said. 

The night was no longer brilliant to Christopher, but 
it seemed to him as if a subtle, beautiful strain had crept 
in. He followed the pathetic figure to her home — some 
meagre place that shone in the light of her soft beauty ; 
in the light of Christopher’s imagination. And then in 
his far wandering thoughts, the Second Fiddle placed 
his hand gently upon the brown hair: he had loved brown 
hair in his earliest youth, in that tragic past to which he 
frequently alluded ; and he watched her confiding smile 
return and rest upon her face as it had done but a 
moment ago. 

For another hour the table d’hbte laughed and sang 
and spoke German, Second Avenue, Fourteenth Street 
and a little unpopular French ; but those who spoke the 
latter dropped a word now and then, and all of the time 
an accent, that showed their affinity with Alsace, and 
all went merry as a marriage bell. An hour later the 
gas jets on the north side were reduced to their normal 
terms and once again became the festooning place for 
begravied towels. Then, at that moment, when 44 lights 
were fled and garlands dead,” and that dingy banquet 
hall deserted, the two fiddler friends and Drayton stood 
together upon the pavement. 

They moved off together, Drayton’s arm linked in 
Christopher's, while the younger man walked beside 


14 


IN HIGH PLACES 


them in full sympathy but with his thoughts seemingly 
abstracted. 

“Is not der whole vorlt happy, mein friend?’' Chris- 
topher asked of Drayton, more German in his speech at 
one time than another. A strange look came into 
Drayton’s face and he did not reply. “ Let us spend our 
money,” Christopher called over his shoulder to Johann, 
who had fallen a little behind. Johann nodded. 

“Good,” Drayton responded. “How do we do it?” 

“There!” Christopher answered, as a girl approached 
with cheeks too red, eyes too bright and clothing too gay 
for clothing that probably covered an empty stomach; 
and he dropped some money into her hand while she 
called back at him something admiring if ribald. 

“ Ach! It is so sad,” the German murmured. 

“I suppose so,” Drayton answered; “but I could 
never feel a sentimentality about the situation that 
perhaps I should feel.” He spoke reflectively, but still 
with a touch of indifference in his tone. “I think the 
human beings who most appeal to me are the aged and 
little children ; just as youth seems most to appeal to the 
artist. I begin earlier: with the little children. Child- 
hood is very helpless, and so is old age. Little children 
have a right to all that is protective and good and beauti- 
ful: infancy has as yet committed no fault, forfeited 
nothing, and its desires are pure. Age has earned the 
right to live and die in peace. Almost the worst man or 
woman in the world has sacrificed something for some- 
body, and thereby has earned a reward. Men and 
women live to be old by much suffering^ disappointment 
and self-sacrifice, and in turn become helpless like little 
children, and ‘all’s spent, naught’s had’ — mostly. It 
is pitiful. But youth, now! it travels hand in hand 
with hope, however mean the conditions of its life may be. 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 15 


If youth starves to-day, yet it has a certain amount of 
confidence in to-morrow; it is a perquisite of youth — 
this habit of hope. While there is hope, there is more 
than life — Why — ” Drayton paused a moment and 
stood still. “ Why — even I hope.” Christopher looked 
at him narrowly and then at Johann, and they moved on. 

“But the children — especially the children — ” Dray- 
ton continued, as if thinking aloud. 

“/a. I think so too,” said Christopher briskly, all 
the while curiously regarding Drayton. “I know what 
we shall do; we shall go to der Settlement alreatty, 
where der ladies half der knowledge of many little 
children. Dose little kind you like ; und der ladies haff 
der wisdom und der loff ” 

“Yes,” Drayton answered, “and if we can give at 
first hand ” 

“Oh, just keep your eyes open, mein friend, und you 
will haff a chance to giff at first hand mit both hands,” 
Christopher continued cheerily, determined by tone and 
manner to raise the mood of melancholy which he per- 
ceived in Drayton. “Now if you would come many 
times more as you do, and liffed not so far as Twenty- 
third Street — maybe — ” he paused the fraction of a 
moment, not long enough to appear inquisitive, yet 
giving Drayton an opportunity to name his geographical 
place. 

“I would like to come oftener; but I, too, am a hard 
worker even at night, and I seldom have a chance to 
be — to be with real friends like this.” He spoke very 
simply, evading Christopher’s half inquiry. 

Presently the companions turned a comer into a badly 
lighted street toward the river, and halted at sight of 
a woman who stood under a gas lamp with another who 
was half drunk and querulous 


i6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“That is der Fraulein Merideth!” Christopher ex- 
claimed. Drayton looked at the two women, so unlike, 
with amazement. So it was, Jean Merideth: a woman 
known to Drayton; in short, Drayton's secretary to 
whom he paid ten thousand dollars a yean Drayton 
thought he had rather she did not see him, although there 
was no especial reason why she should not. Perhaps 
his undefined impulse to conceal himself was due to his 
desire to maintain his long-enjoyed footing of equality 
with his German friends. 

“I do not like to see der Fraulein, so schone , so fine, 
down in these blaces. Ach! She knows where to find 
der poor little children. She is der Fraulein to spend 
der money. It is a good Christmas, to giff der money 
to her alreatty — ” and Christopher would have gone 
ahead. 

“Here," said Drayton hastily, “I won't go! you know 
her'' — and his inflection might have been interpreted 
to mean that he did not. “You give her this for my 
share/' and in his haste and surprise he shoved a roll of 
bills into Christopher’s hand, which revealed of himself 
more than he wished. The German stood a moment 
looking at the money and at Drayton, then he said 
simply, with some new understanding of his friend 
struggling in his tone: 

“I will giff it, mein friend; you und Johann can walk 
back and I will offertake you. I will giff for you, too, 
Johann." And he emerged from the gloom of their 
standing place, and walked toward Jean Merideth, while 
Drayton and Johann Loscher slowly moved back to the 
corner, where they stood waiting. When the men were 
again united, silence and a slight unwonted reserve 
seemed to fall upon them. This was a moment which 
Drayton had ever contrived should never come. He 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS i 7 


feared to have his refuge, his alternative to a hard, 
hurried, arid life suddenly denied him. He was troubled 
lest these good friends, so full of confidence in him and 
in human nature, should treat him with reserve, instead 
of that simplicity which had made him one of them. 
While wondering what he should do to relieve the situa- 
tion, Christopher said: 

44 Come home with Johann und me, mein friend; it is 
Christmas Eve und we will haff some beer und be jolly. " 
And he linked his arm in Drayton's. The prompt 
speech of the German had left Drayton no room to 
hesitate, or to doubt their future relations. 

44 If I may," he said, "and I am interested in the Miss 
Merideth we saw." All three of the men were now 
feeling their way very cautiously. Drayton was deter- 
mined not to lie to them, and yet he did not wish to 
discuss that self known to his familiar world, and all 
the while he was peculiarly pushed to know what his 
secretary did in her unaccustomed surroundings. In 
turn, Christopher feared to disturb that camaraderie 
which he, Johann and Drayton had so often enjoyed 
in the past year. 

44 1 will tell you," he said. "That Mees Merideth she 
is der beautiful woman with such money that she makes 
der sick well und der well happy. She is in der Settle- 
ment all of der time when she is not some blace else 
alreatty, jal She is one lofely, beautiful woman, mit der 
voice down deep in her chest, like der cello." 

Drayton listened with surprise. Then Jean Merideth, 
his secretary, was beautiful, and she had a beautiful voice 
— down deep in her chest, like a cello — and was 
regarded holily by the poor and lowly, and by such true 
men as these. Drayton grew thoughtful. Jean Meri- 
deth had sat in his office nearly every day, close by his 


i8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


side, for ten years. Now that he recalled her as she had 
stood with the drunken woman beneath the gas lamp, 
he recalled that she was beautiful. He had never seen 
her out of office conditions before. He knew that 
she was as responsible as Christopher’s words had 
implied, but then she was his secretary: why else had he 
employed her for ten years, from girlhood to woman- 
hood, if she were not responsible! To Drayton it was an 
extreme discovery: that Jean Merideth should be 
beautiful! He was not very certain that this was so, even 
now that he had noticed her and had heard that others 
thought her so. On the whole, Drayton doubted her 
beauty. There was Rosalie, Drayton’s wife. Now 
she was beautiful, beautiful 1 and simultaneously with this 
uxorious thought Jean Merideth slipped his mind. The 
three men were walking along in silence, none of them 
thinking to take a car and none of them feeling con- 
versational. Each man had fallen to think of the woman 
he most loved. In the case of the two Germans, the 
woman was identical. In Drayton’s case the woman 
was his wife. Unconsciously, the friends had locked 
arms, Drayton’s tall, steel-spring figure between the 
others, and Christopher walking on the outside. As 
they stepped along, the rhythm of their steps upon the 
pavement seemed to Drayton to measure itself by the 
word “Rosalie,” but to the other men it spoke “Aline”: 
for by some process both men were in possession of the 
name borne by the girl of the table d’hbte. Aline, 
Rosalie! Women as far apart as the poles! Yet whose 
lives were to touch most tragically. 

“Rosalie! The name, the sweetest, dearest name to 
me. Rosalie! Sweetheart Rosalie, wife Rosalie! 
Nothing wrong in the repetition of that name,” Drayton 
thought whimsically. “The typewriter’s name is 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 19 


Minnie; Wolfschon's wife's is Rebecca — and the secre- 
tary’s is" — Drayton's thoughts halted a moment — “is 
Jean. Jean is a sort of hard name," Drayton thought 
— “It is sort of restful, too," Drayton thought again. 
“Rosalie! That is the sweetest name — Wolfschon's 
wife’s name is Rebecca — a damned good wife and mother, 
by the way — but God! To be Wolfschon — wouldn’t it 
be just hell! I don't believe Wolfschon cares. It’s all 
right for Wolfschon. The way he cleaned up that U. P. 
deal was magnificent and racial. Wolfschon! Wolf- 
schon!" Drayton's steps now clicked off. “I wonder 
what she is doing — Rosalie! I wonder what Rosalie is 
doing. Christmas Eve, and I down here — trying to 
think of something else, and she up there somewhere — 
eating something, I guess, while some man — Bennington, 
I guess — holds the plate; and she’s making Bennington 
feel like thirty cents. I want my wife." As he thought, 
he suddenly looked up. He had almost said that aloud. 

“Friend Christopher, did you ever know a man who 
wanted his wife, I mean his own lawfully wedded wife? 
I know fifty men who want some other man's wife, but 
one who wants his own — did you ever know such a 
man?" 

The German humped his fiddle a little closer under 
his arm. 

“ Yess, I haff known men who wanted their own wifes, 
mein friend — but not too often here in America — nor 
yet maybe in France — Oh, neffer in France. But I haff 
known them." 

“Well, I want mine." Drayton stopped in the mid- 
dle of the pavement and he and Johann and Christopher 
stood in a little group looking into each other's faces. 
Johann half shut his eyes, nodded slowly as if he com- 
» prehendecj with all his might — and Johann's might 


20 


IN HIGH PLACES 


would be mighty when the moment should come. Chris- 
topher's attitude was interested and somewhat judicial. 
He was too tactful to appear sympathetic. He con- 
ceived it his business to regard Drayton's problem in the 
abstract. It was this marvellous aristocracy of feeling 
which brought Drayton down to these men again and 
again. He wondered now, as he heard himself, why in 
God's name he was talking. 

They stood thus a moment, and then passed on, still 
arm in arm. Again Drayton was segregated in his 
thought. 

44 I want my wife, and hang it all, I don’t see why I 
haven’t got her. I am half ashamed to possess her, 
as a fact. Six feet and a fraction tall and weigh one 
hundred and ninety-five pounds! — must train down ten 
pounds, I’d feel the better for it. Hard! — hate fat — on 
a man — hate muscle on a woman. Have a voice which 
might be heard in the sub-cellar of the next avenue if 
I took pains — frequently eat chops for breakfast — never 
feel so well for it either, light breakfast is the thing — 
Not doormats such as Wolfschon eats — a sort of straw- 
matting and milk — but something light — Rosalie is — 
I care only for small women — ” Drayton spoke up. 
Christopher knew what was in Drayton’s mind by now 
as completely as if Drayton had revealed it in words. 
That roll of bills: Drayton was a moneyed man, a 
painfully rich man! He came down here, not because 
he knew or cared anything about the poor and afflicted 
perhaps, nor because he loved the company he sought 
(though in this Christopher was wrong) — but to forget — 
his wife — whom he loved. 

44 J a! Der leettle, leettle tender helpless womens,” 
responded Christopher promptly. 

44 About five feet and a little something and not much 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 21 


overlaid with flesh, and in her get-up as fragile as a china 
tea-cup — " Drayton ceased speaking and pursued his 
vagrant thought silently. And by this time his febrile 
mind had communicated its fever to his body and his 
hand trembled on Johann's arm. Johann held Drayton's 
hand close to him. The two Germans had strangely 
different ways of expressing the same thing. With 
Johann those ways were secret, while Christopher was as a 
man shouting from a housetop; and hardly an emotion 
that Christopher had but he could afford to have heard. 
At this moment the men arrived at the Houston Street 
lodgings. 

When they had ascended the bare stairs, Drayton 
faced the words upon the door: 

"lapdogs brightened, and the hair curled." 1 

This was the sign for a side business which Christopher 
regarded as no less artistic than his fiddling, and it was 
considerably more lucrative. If the table d’hote brought 
him seven dollars a week, the lapdogs augmented that 
income by twenty-five. Thus the friends lived at ease 
and almost with American prodigality. 

"Lapdogs brightened and curled," Drayton read 
slowly in the dim flicker of a hall light, but he made 
no inquiry. 

"Yes, yes," Christopher returned. " Come in, come in, 
my dear friend. It is the first time you haff come to our 
place mit us. Always at Goerwitz offer der beer, but neffer 
in our house. Come in, come in! You are so welcome as 
neffer. Come in und I will tell you about der leettle dogs." 

Drayton found himself within, standing in the semi- 
dark of the rooms, while Christopher went forward to turn 
up the gas and Johann remained behind to shut the door. 

"Now we shall sit. Der glasses, Johann, und der 


22 


IN HIGH PLACES 


bottles; and thou, mein Schatz” he said, stopping and 
caressing the little dog in the basket , 11 mein liebes Kind! ” 
he said, “ I will make der fire so warm ass, for you ” — and 
he stirred the coals and put on more fuel. Drayton was 
helping Johann to set the table, falling naturally 
into place as all fine folk do. Christopher seemed 
to abandon the work to the guest and to Johann, 
being absorbed in loving talk which the small dog 
seemingly understood. 

“Christopher,” Johann called from the inner room, 
4 ‘the salad ” 

“On der fire-escape behind. Der herring salad! 
Find der cheese in der cupboard mit der blacking brushes. 
I changed der place because der leettle mice come so 
much mit der leettle closet. I set der trap, but when I 
heard it spring in der night it troubled my mind and I 
let der leettle mouse out, it was too bad. We must 
chase them — just chase them und change der tings 
alreatty,” he said, himself bringing the salad from the 
fire escape while Drayton applied a patent arrangement 
to the beer bottles and opened them. 

The fire sprang into sudden brightness, the lapdog 
barked sharply, whereupon Christopher stooped and 
placed him on the table, holding him by the scruff of 
the neck. 

“To der good cheer und happiness of — of dose we loff 
und of all of our friends,” he cried, seizing a bottle and 
tipping it; and the three men drank long while the 
gurgle from the bottles and the sharp bark of the little 
dog, sounded a sort of festive trump. 

“ Zum Rhein , zum Rhein , zum Deutschen Rhein!* 9 

Christopher roared robustiously as he set his bottle 
empty upon the table with a loud noise. “ Now we will 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 23 


sit, eat und drink und speak of things. I shall tell mein 
story first, ja! It is about der leettle brightened dogs, 
mein friend/ * 

He suddenly took the cover from his fiddle, apropos 
of nothing, began to tune it, then as suddenly put it 
down. “It is about der leettle dogs,” he repeated, 
folding and re-folding the soft lop-ear of the small dog 
which lay curled upon the table. He blew a cloud of 
smoke into the air and then looked around the haze- 
blanket at Johann. “ It wass a Christmas Day that first 
year when Johann und me came to this America, jal" 
Johann nodded. “It wass when we first knew of that 
UNION. That UNION learned us to blay by der yard, 
alreatty, schon — und we didn’t like it. Johann und me 
had lifted here as two brudders for one month; we did 
not know too well der language; but der union it wass 
bad in effery tongue. One day I wass mad. The union 
insulted mein Hans here. He wass not there. They 
said he blayed like one maestro for fifty cents und so I 
come home to mein Hans und said I would no longer in 
that orchestra blay. I wass mad. I said: ‘You must 
support us. I am too mad to blay.’ Then Hans said: 

4 1 heard that the UNION had some complaint against you 
and so alreatty my resignation is made here. I, too, am 
so mad as you. ’ ’ And so it was — that resignation written 
in good English and borne in good German, and 
both were out of a job. 

“ ‘We shall starve, my Johann,’ I said, “but we 
starve together — und I shall get you meat.’ Und we 
embraced und became happy ; und I went out und put a 
sign in der window before the elevated trains: ‘Lapdogs 
brightened und der hair curled’; und *we became rich. 
I wass glad because I loft der dogs — effen the ones that 
haft no bark in them. Der husbands of der ladies who 


24 


IN HIGH PLACES 


haff lapdogs read der sign when they go to Hanover 
Square, und tell der joke to their wifes, und to der wifes 
it is no joke und they come with their dogs und pay. und 
I can make him more beautiful as God made him." 
Christopher put his hand on the little dog curled up on 
the table. “ That is all about der leettle dogs ! ” 

“Do you do anything for cats?” Drayton asked. 

“Neffer for but one — it is a fine Persian cat loved by 
one of those small little ladies you say, und that cat I 
brighten und curl like a little dog — but I am not so fond 
of der cats. Nein. A cat is bad — because it is not good 
— just selfish and does not love.” 

“What kind of a Persian cat? ” Drayton asked eagerly. 
“White brisket and — ” 

“The lady hass beautiful red hair, und a little 
way ” 

“Ah,” said Drayton. Yes, yes. It was Rosalie. 

“Well, that wass der first Christmas Day for Johann 
und me.” 

“If instead of cats and dogs” — Drayton paused, then 
continued: “I fancy one might get considerable out of 
life if he had a son. Life might seem a pretty rosy thing 
to a man who had a boy growing up, knowing he had 
enough to make of him a good sort, and to give the lad 
a chance.” He was leaning across the table studying 
the dog, yet his voice was vehement. Johann rose and 
swung himself across the room. 

“Mein friend, you are sad — ” Christopher leaned for- 
ward in his chair, studying Drayton with his narrowed 
eyes. “You are sad.” 

Drayton stood up. His action was sudden and his 
manner brisk. “ No,” he said. “ No ; only — good-night 
— I am not good company to-night. You will let me 
come again — and again ” 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 25 


“Come always,” said Christopher as Johann opened 
the door. But Johann Loscher said nothing. Only 
when Drayton was outside on the landing, the younger 
man stepped after him and said quickly: 

“A man can die — ” Drayton turned to look at him. 

“ Why no! ” he said, experiencing a sudden revulsion of 
feeling. “No! That is not for men, Johann! One lives 
— to better it/' and Drayton’s expression became ener- 
getic, while the young German’s was still whimsical. 

Drayton walked uptown a way, then took a car till 
he saw a cab, then he got off and took the cab to his own 
place. It was just midnight as he put his key in the lock. 
The lights were down and only the man on the elevator 
was in sight. Drayton did not give him any attention 
as he made a motion of awaiting orders, but started 
up the stairs; then half way, he paused mechanically, 
looked at his watch, glanced back over the stair-railing 
and turned back. 

“Merry Christmas, Grant!” he said, going up to the 
man and holding out his hand. “Merry Christmas,” 
and he stepped inside the car. He got out at the next 
floor and sought a small box of a room at the end of the 
hall. He went in and closed the door. He sat still with 
his coat on, leaning back in his chair, with his hands over 
his eyes, and then the procession of the years went by. 

First came boyhood, full of simple pleasures, and 
with it marched the memories of home. A healthy 
life, peculiarly full of sweetness infused by the gentle- 
woman who was his mother. But Drayton now recalled 
how, even in his boyhood, he had felt that people hurried. 
He broke the continuity of his thought and tried to go 
back to a time when he had not scented haste in the 
atmosphere , and he' could recall no such time. It was 
a condition peculiar to his generation and his kind. He 


26 


IN HIGH PLACES 


had no ancestry that he needed; only memories of a 
wholesome boyhood, full of honest pleasures such as are 
the portion of most of his American kind. 

Then came youth, with no especial ambitions along 
with it, but with just a healthy man’s intention to get on 
in life, and to do at least as well as his father had done 
before him. Drayton had been satisfied with his father, 
and had never been conscious of any desire to eclipse 
him; but Drayton’s father had ideas on the subject. 
The son had been expected to improve upon his father’s 
performance; this, too, was typical of his American kind. 
Drayton had fulfilled expectations. Then, with his 
father’s death had come Rosalie, his wife; Rosalie of 
his own class, with only the line-fence between. 

They had grown along together, living side by side in 
elegant simplicity, and Drayton all unaware that any 
other condition was necessary to complete his happiness, 
provided his elegance and simplicity were to be shared by 
Rosalie. 

Then Rosalie had gone to Europe, and she had come 
home at about eighteen, full to the top with fascinations 
both domestic and imported, and so perfectly had she 
adapted the foreign goods to home consumption that 
Drayton had lived in a sort of daze when Rosalie was 
near; and then they had married! For two years there- 
after he had continued to go in and out of a great city 
and inexorably to pile up money as had the Draytons 
before him, and he came out into the country each night 
in the ‘‘special” with other rich men who did things for 
and against the world, and who lived about like himself. 
But one day trusts and mergers and other things bearing 
relation to such things came into his mind, and he 
organised something. At first it was a small thought 
born of Rosalie’s desire for extra money ; then it became 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 27 


a large thought, and finally it grew to rule the world; 
and Drayton was one of the few men who stood for 
gigantic enterprises. Then he and Rosalie moved into 
town altogether, and he found it no longer possible to 
leave the office at four o’clock, as his father had: 
The banking house of Drayton, Wolfschon and Stebbins 
had come to mean great things in the financial world. 

Perhaps the one human being deepest in Drayton’s 
confidence and regard was Wolfschdn, his Jewish 
partner. The partnership between Jew and Gentile 
was as extraordinary in its success as in its combination. 

In all the years of his married life Drayton had not 
changed. He would be about the same as yesterday — • 
to-day and forever, unless Rosalie made up her mind 
to merge him in herself. He was spared that, however, 
because Rosalie was very well satisfied that he should 
remain as he was; he could hardly be improved upon 
for her purposes. 

Her husband had of necessity to be a man of dignified 
exterior and suave and well-bred, so that technically he 
could not be distinguished from the man officially well- 
born, if any occasion arose to classify him. And he must 
continue to be successful, always. And he must love 
her and believe in her, and that, too, seemed likely to be 
always. 

Thus, down to the present! Drayton, with his hands 
over his eyes, let the June go by and entered into the 
fierce summer of his life. It had found him with simple 
tastes, a decent love of books and honest men and sincere 
women, and with almost none of these reasonable tastes 
gratified. Drayton had his place, known in the house as 
the “ Box,” into which he crept half guiltily now and 
then, as on a night like this when he had returned home 
too confused and tired to choose between dressing-room, 


28 


IN HIGH PLACES 


cigars and the soul-satisfying valet, Bemie, and his box 
of a library. 

There was a library on the other side of the house, 
which stood for the strenuous and for Rosalie’s per- 
spicacity, but with that Drayton had nothing to do: 
nothing but to draw checks to its glory. Rosalie and 
her chosen man who knew first editions from last year’s 
birds’ nests, attended to that. 

Down here were the things Drayton loved ; and some- 
times he went apart to read, or maybe only to sit with 
them, but those times were infrequent. Just now, with 
his hands over his eyes, he recalled something that some- 
body who knew how to speak had uttered, and he leaped 
to his feet with such a paroxysm of distraction and of 
futile grief, as some women know: 

u If I had the time to find a place 
And sit me down full face to face 

With my better self, that cannot show 
In my daily life that rushes so : 

It might be then I would see my soul 
Was stumbling still toward the shining goal; 

I might be nerved by the thought sublime — 

If I had the time ” 

Drayton had idly read these lines on some such night 
as this, no doubt ; and with that same facility with which 
he photographically retained the minutest details of 
finance, he had doubtless made the verses his own. He 
stood a moment so, and suddenly his mind reverted to 
the vulgar actualities of his life; as, for instance, his 
woman secretary. 

In photographic juxtaposition with Burton’s lines, 
he beheld Jean Merideth. He sat again, feeling a sudden 
relief from over tension. He saw Jean Merideth — not as 
he had seen her to-night down by the river, but adjusting 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 29 


the pin in her cuff, with a little movement that was 
characteristic and habitual, when she was abstracted or 
thoughtful. The pin was of three unobtrusive 
turquoises. Drayton leaned back and without any 
conscious transition he thought of his wife. To think 
of her was to become fevered. From a momentary 
relaxation and the sense of a cool hand on his brow, he 
experienced a flood-tide of emotion, and he sank back 
there in his chair like a winded runner. 

Rosalie! Bennington! — with something on a plate — 
somebody with something on a plate — or Rosalie with 
somebody on a string — or a plate (Drayton’s thoughts 
were unassorted). And there was Henley and his wife! 
Drayton frowned as the name was automatically regis- 
tered in his mind: maybe because he didn’t care for 
boat races and men who snored when they talked. 

Then crowded in all the senseless details of the sort of 
thing Rosalie was at that moment engaged in ; and over 
all, like some horrid arterial strangulation that was 
withholding the blood from his brain and suspending his 
energies, there glowed his passion for his wife. Drayton 
stared straight before him, and suddenly hurtling his 
fist upon the table he said aloud: 

“ I see my finish.”" 

Then the door opened, and Rosalie petalled in. 
The roses in her hand fell leaf by leaf as she walked; 
the rose effects of her gown shimmered, and her chiffons 
fluttered, and a faint elusive perfume filled the room. 

“Here? It’s too — something.” She darted; and she 
turned from the room, flutteringly evanescent and wild- 
wood, knowing that Drayton was following. He 
touched her elbow as she went up the stairs, to poise 
rather than to assist her. 

Rosalie! Rosalie! Back in the spring of love-time and 


30 


IN HIGH PLACES 


possession! The time regnant in his fancy! A mistaken 
fancy. Drayton knew: it had never been possession — 
only almost. There was something Drayton had never 
got. Drayton did not know that maybe it was some- 
thing that was never there. 

At the head of the stairs he held aside the curtain 
that screened a favourite place of Rosalie’s, but she sped 
past him, seeming to hold her floating points and purfles 
about her, to keep from becoming detached in space, and 
she said: 

“Up in my room. I can talk better there. Beside, 
I haven’t seen the cat for five hours. I never have a 
minute’s peace about him.” For just a moment, when 
she had indicated her apartments, Drayton’s heart had 
hoped ; but since “talk ” was Rosalie’s expressed purpose 
at midnight, and since conversation with Rosalie implied 
something strenuous on somebody’s part, his tread fell 
less elastic. Yet he was glad; glad to know that she 
wanted anything in this world of him. Beside, there 
was always the possibility, slight to be sure, but yet 
existent, that Rosalie might one day mean something 
that meant something to Drayton. 

And there, on the threshold of Rosalie’s domain, stood 
Rosalie’s unfaithful replica, Fifine. Fifine was a repe- 
titional blow to Drayton’s solidarity: he seldom bought 
replicas. His all-wool-and-a-yard-wide instinct forbade 
it. All in his art collection were genuine. He bought 
the best of meek and lowly artists at times, but every- 
thing was chosen for love. He sometimes looked at his 
possessions and thought: “If I had the time — I’d — ” 
but then he hadn’t. Rosalie was a work of art which 
cost Drayton so much, that he dared not indulge his 
superficial art tastes to any very large extent ; yet there 
stood Fifine, fluttering and seeming to try futilely to 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 31 


anchor her ribbons and the tendrils of her hair — a darker 
red than Rosalie’s — that escaped neath the lacen square 
atop of her head. 

“ I shall detach Madame and make her tisane ” 

“You go to bed. I’ll get undone, some way,” and 
while Rosalie waved her Fifine aside, Drayton looked at 
some rose-coloured things that crossed at the small of 
Rosalie’s back, and wondered how? And while he 
wondered, Fifine shoved the tendrils under the lace 
square, and filtered out. Drayton could detect the 
mechanism of Fifine’s existence, but he never could 
see the seams in Rosalie’s achievements. Fifine’s high 
heels and streamers were her impediments ; but nothing 
ever offered any obstacle to the scheme of Rosalie’s 
lovely being. 

“I should think that girl, Fifine, would distract you, 
Rosalie.” 

“ ‘Rose,’ call me ‘Rose,’ Trowbridge,” she said with 
sweet impatience, dropping upon the floor to fondle the 
Persian cat that had shown no particular interest in her 
coming; and Drayton’s heart sank. So it was to be 
“Trowbridge” and “Rose” this evening — or what was 
left of the night. Instantly there was a subtle change 
in Drayton’s manner, of which he was unaware, but 
Rosalie knew. 

“She doesn’t annoy me. I like her. She is so unlike 
me. 

Drayton looked at his wife. 

“I had always thought you kept her because of a 
certain suggestion — suggestion of the genre .” Drayton 
smiled. He recalled the exhaustive efforts Rosalie had 
made to find her several years before ; and that she had 
offered the girl an extra wage to wear a shade of pink 
unsuited to any complexion less perfect than Rosalie’s. 


32 


IN HIGH PLACES 


44 Oh, absurd! Yes, partly — but to show the difference. 
If one wishes to emphasise the perfections of a thing, let 
him put a fair copy beside it. Look at Fifine, then look 
at me.” Rosalie was speaking in all sobriety. Drayton 
did look at her, and oh, his God! how goodly a thing she 
was to the eye! to more than the eye! There was some- 
thing about Rosalie that spoke to the soul. Drayton 
believed that so lovely a calyx must ensheath the dower 
of a most beautiful soul, and he was straining his own to 
find it. Beauty alone speaks to the soul, but Drayton 
did not philosophise upon his wife: it would have been 
unseemly. 

He thought of Fifine and was newly impressed with the 
propriety of his wife's instincts: Fifine and she: so like 
and so dissimilar. 

Rosalie was all the time untwining herself as she said 
things. She had arrived at the pink lacings that crossed 
at the small of her back and her fingers tugged tremu- 
lously and impotently at her streamers. Then she 
duttered her petals in the air and backed up to Drayton, 
pursuing her theme without interruption. He bent 
conscientiously to the lovely task, and carefully assorted 
his wife's hooks and knots and strange, unfamiliar 
anchorings, and as dnancial enterprise unravelled in his 
hands, so even did Rosalie's toilet intricacies. Would 
Rosalie presently stand revealed, if only the shroud of 
her soul? Drayton seemed to himself to be living in a 
sort of perpetual, breathless suspense. Such conditions 
are wearing to a man, even if calculated to hold his 
attention indefinitely. 

No, Rosalie would never stand revealed: Rosalie was 
transformed from her picture-place on the line, her place 
on the trellis, to a dressing-room mystery, as cloud melts 
into cloud. It all passed before Drayton's eyes. Rosalie 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 33 


was a woman who might have performed almost any 
iniquity of the toilet without let or hindrance of unseem- 
liness, in the public square: Rosalie was an essence, all 
unconscious of self, and it was an obvious incongruity 
to think in her presence that to which she did not re- 
spond: it put the delinquent out of the picture. 

She faded from one shade of rose to another, rustled, 
fluttered the white petals of her hands, placed her feet in 
their little green leaves of gear upon the sober, earth- 
brown velvet of her cushion, and took unsubstantial root 
in a favourite satin depth. The inevitable Persian cat 
made a part of the picture, curled, indifferent to all but 
its own ease, beneath Rosalie's arm, its head resting on 
her bosom. Rosalie, herself, always produced in Dray- 
ton's mind a strange, new, fearsome impression of the 
mutable ; her cat being the only element of substanti- 
ality in the scene — unless Drayton were to except 
himself. He stood before her because he did not dare 
sit. He was most in need of a hair shirt. Drayton’s 
thoughts in their forced wanderings brought him up 
standing against monasticism and left him wondering 
how a monk felt. He knew how a monk was not sup- 
posed to feel. 

“ We've got to have a yacht, Trowbridge,” she said. 

4 4 The Rosalie — ” he ventured. 

44 It won't do. I'm going to Cowes for those yacht 
races next year. The Van Vorsts are going.” 

‘‘But I don't see the connection. I thought they 
didn’t belong to ” 

4 4 That I did not belong, you mean; that I don't belong 
to their set. I know! That's the reason I'm going. They 
and the Henleys belong together, and I’ll ask nothing of 
the Henleys. The Henleys are going to Cowes to the 
Imperial yacht races; they don’t know it yet, but I do.” 


34 


•' IN HIGH PLACES 


Drayton could but love her for her incoherence, and 
then, Rosalie possessed with it all, a kind of startling 
astuteness which was not dangerous in a wife if the wife 
were Rosalie. In her it was piquant. 

4 ‘The Henleys’ physician told me yesterday that he 
was prescribing for Ida Henley. He said she needed a 
change, a whole year of travel. Now Cowes is head and 
tail of that man’s pharmacopoeia. She's put him up to 
it because Gib Henley wouldn’t give her those emeralds. 
They say, Bridge, that he gave that dancer ” 

“No matter,” Drayton interrupted. “Go on about 
Cowes. You’ll lose the combination.” 

“Well, since Dr. Swaylling is prescribing, it’s neces- 
sarily going to be Cowes next year, isn’t it?” 
Drayton laughed: he had to. She had said nothing 
especially brilliant, but she had said it well, such as 
it was. 

“Gib Henley will know they are to go, the day after 
to-morrow: Swaylling said he’d have to examine her 
again before he made a positive diagnosis. That will be 
about to-morrow. It has to be all very deliberate and 
serious, you see, and it has to be a year ahead of time in 
order to have something proper to go in. He pre- 
scribes a year of travel and wind up at Cowes. It seems 
to me Swaylling earns his fees thinking such things out 
and making them hitch for women like Ida Henley. 
Well, I'm going there in such splendour that they’ll 
have to do the right thing or set up in rivalry; and 
Henley won’t let her do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Oh, he’s vain; all men who are as ugly as Henley are 
vain — and I’m quite nice to him.” Drayton smiled. 
Her tone was of the same simplicity as her utterance. 

“Well, and at Cowes? I don’t quite see; because you 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 35 


and the Henleys are very good friends in America. Why 
new regality and a geographical change ?” 

‘‘Why, I don’t care anything about the Henleys ,” 
said Rosalie with a soft crumpling of her leaves. “I’ve 
not been talking about the Henleys . Didn’t I tell you 
the Van Vorsts were going to lie at Cowes? — and the 
Henleys and the Van Vorsts, and I and the Henleys ’’ 

“Oh, Lord! Yes, I see.” 

“ In order to do it you must fix things, Trowbridge.” 

Drayton looked down into the fire, then she stirred 
her foliage and he pushed a chair near to her, turning it 
so that they must nearly face each other. He sat and 
rested his hand upon hers, which lay soft and relaxed in 
her lap. When he touched it, it trembled with charac- 
teristic resistance a moment, then lay still. 

“Don’t — don’t disturb the cat, Trowbridge, he’s so 
happy — and loves me so much;” she said plaintively, 
fending the sleeping cat from Drayton’s movement. 

“Rosalie — ” a tip-tilting of her face and little marks 
between her eyes reminded Drayton that he was 
“Trowbridge” just then, and she “Rose.” He began 
again. 

“Rose, I refitted the yacht last season to please you. 
I don’t quite see my way to undertaking just now the 
extraordinary expense of such a campaign as you sug- 
gest for next year. I’m not saying ‘no,’ ” he hastened to 
add, as he felt impatience in her fingers, “but I want to 
discuss matters with you, and then we’ll see about it.” 

“I shall feel just the same,” she said, pruning her 
words. “I’ve decided — and I’m going to have the 
Kaiser to luncheon.” 

Drayton smiled, holding her soft hand warm-clasped 
in his. 

“Perhaps not,” he said, and his smile was gentle, 


36 


IN HIGH PLACES 


indulgent and reassuring. His smile belied his emotions: 
he was almost without hope. “ Things lie thus with me: 
A man who operates as I do knows times and seasons 
when it becomes necessary to tie up his cash pretty 
closely, in order to enlarge his future interests very con- 
siderably. It is, just now, such a time with me. I 
have enterprises which must terminate favourably to 
me — that means to you ; but I need all the money I can 
command to control matters. I’m not making money 
for myself, surely you know that.” 

“I know. You would be willing to sail the seas in a 
catboat — an ordinary, back-fence, yellow sort of cat at 
that ” 

“That I would — if I had the time,” Drayton said 

earnestly. 

In her voice there was only gentle mirth, and she 
pushed her fingers through his hair. Drayton did not 
look up: he felt his face grow dark, as emotion caught 
and half strangled him. Her slightest personal atten- 
tion fairly submerged him in passionate impulse. Her 
sentiments and her lack of sentiment never jarred upon 
him, because they seemed aerial, non-substantial, like 
herself. 

“If I had the time, we’d go — not to Cowes, but to 
Arcadie, for the season, and recover the lost years, 
Rosalie.” Rosalie said nothing, but she smiled as if 
remembering the lost years not unkindly. She well 
knew that Drayton did not have the time. 

“But Cowes,” she said, leaning so that her flower-face 
was on a line with his. 

“It would cost more than ” 

“Not more than you can afford. Why, Gib Henley 
is going to give Ida ■” 

“Not more than I can afford, but more than I should 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 37 


afford just at this time.” Drayton spoke hurriedly. 
There! Drayton’s ambition and weakness stood revealed: 
to give Rosalie more than Henley gave to his wife! 
Drayton could not have formulated a reason for his 
puerility, but beyond question, it was a factor in his life. 
Rosalie glanced at him from the tail of her eye; she 
knew more about what Drayton felt than he did. 

Women instinctively perceive an advantage in cer- 
tain petty mechanisms of the mind, and only good or 
stupid women fail to possess themselves of the 
combination. 

“It will mean a great deal of money, even for me: 
such a trip; but it can be done if it will give you any 
special happiness. It would?” 

“I — I don’t know, Bridge.” “Bridge!” Drayton’s 
heart missed a beat. “ I don’t know that it would make 
me happy, but it is necessary in order that I should not 
be unhappy .” Rosalie was naive — which stands with a 
good many for being truthful. 

“Well then! and after all, why should you feel that 
the Van Vorsts are necessary to your peace? ” 

“ Why ? ” She regarded him in grave wonderment. “ I 
can’t get in . ” 

“Oh, they represent the unattainable?” Drayton 
smiled. 

A pause, a subtle change of tone, and she said: “You 
can understand what it is to want the unattainable.” 
Drayton looked in her face. Her expression was whim- 
sical, and she laughed with a little breathless method that 
was hers, and then looked down. Then she blushed. 
She would blush in her fortieth year because a self- 
consciousness always came upon her at moments when 
her anxiety was great enough to cause her to doubt the 
potency of her methods. 


38 


IN HIGH PLACES 


A blush may be but a disturbance of the circulation, 
but we trace it to the soul when en tete-a-tete. 

The words startled Drayton, but the blush reassured 
him. There was no revealment of repellant calculation 
in her coquetries. The blush left her all a-bloom with 
shy impulse and woman’s contrariety and sweet reticence. 

This was more of invitation than Drayton had often 
received; he disturbed the sleeping Persian and took 
Rosalie in his arms. She rested there an instant, then 
placed both her soft hands upon his breast and tried to 
push him away. It was for self-protection that she was 
bom thus fragile and impuissant. Drayton felt the 
push of her foolish little hands against him, and opened 
his arms and let her loose. 

“I was frightened,” she said, tuning forth a laugh — 
half breath, half speech. “I thought I could not get 
away.” Drayton looked at her, seeking in amazement 
the cause of his own action. Detain that frail, elusive, 
warm, small woman against her volition? Not if the 
man were Drayton; and Drayton was hardly exceptional 
in decency. He was the rule of his class. 

Drayton remembered moments when he had believed 
Rosalie to be all his. He had always believed at such 
times that her surrender was complete ; but afterward, 
when he had thought upon it in calmer mood, he had 
known that this was not so. There was still a Rosalie 
of unsounded depths: so he thought, while lost among 
the shallows. He believed there was still a Rosalie in 
reserve. 

He set her free. Drayton knew that he was dismissed: 
not because his privileges were denied him, nor his 
masculine potentiality doubted; on the contrary, he 
was going because these things were so tremblingly 
recognised, so flutteringly, subtly appealed to. 


THE SECOND FIDDLE AND SOME OTHERS 39 


Drayton said good-night, and pausing in the doorway 
remarked quietly: 

“I can arrange the Cowes campaign. ** 

“And to think — Henley would not give her those 
emeralds, Bridge.** Drayton smiled unworthily, while 
Rosalie picked up the cat. 

“It is already Christmas day, Rosalie,** Drayton said, 
wishing to hear her say some thoughtful word. 

“ So it is — and oh, Trowbridge, I do hope you are going 
to give me something nice,** she entreated from out the 
cat’s long fur. 

And with the thoughtful word in his ears, he went to 
bed. 


CHAPTER II 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 

T HE next day was Christmas in Houston Street as 
well as in Fifth Avenue, with the difference that 
while Drayton was compelled by custom to rest upon his 
oars till office hours the day after, the home-manufactured 
dog was in the process of making whenever Christopher 
chose to work. On this Christmas day he chose to work. 
As he started to the basement to get a newly arrived dog, 
that was waiting to be curled and brightened by Chris- 
topher’s process, Johann asked in surprise: 

“Are you going to work? It is a holiday, Chris.” 

“It will pass der time — ja!” he had answered; and 
Johann looked up quickly. 

“Till when?” Loscher had heard in his friend’s tone 
some unfamiliar denotement. 

“Till der effening,” Christopher answered, sitting 
again, and applying the heated iron to the silken 
coat of a dog upon which he had been at work. A 
whiff of scorched hair pervaded the apartment. Johann 
regarded his friend earnestly: these signs of impatience 
and abstraction were all foreign to Christopher’s prac- 
tice and experience. Did he already suffer by presenti- 
ment the loneliness of separation from Johann? Loscher 
took his hat and started out, yet he paused again in 
the doorway. 

“You think you will not come? ” 

“Nein, mein Hans! I will prighten der leettle dogs, 
till effening. Go! I am happy.” And he suddenly put 

40 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 41 


down the bewildered dog and precipitated himself upon 
his friend. 

“I do not know that anything will be so happy ass 
this, mein Johann; but if it is or not, I shall loff you 
better ass this.” Thus, in a moment, the friends 
stood clasping each other. Then it was Christopher 
who broke the silence of a painful and as yet all 
uninterpreted moment. 

4 4 We are two foolish fellows, mein Hans; we are so 
happy — except mein past — ” he hesitated, as he always 
did upon uttering the words, ‘‘that we cannot enchoy 
ourselfs?” He laughed enormously, and Johann left 
the room. 

“Between my past und my present und my future, I 
am torn mit bits,” said Christopher, earnestly addressing 
the dog. “I haf one dreadful maelstrom — one Sargasso 
in mein affairs, und now maype I make it more by 
leafing Johann all alone. Mein affairs all rush together 
tangled und turn round und round. But it is der Fate, 
mein hund , jaf It is der Fate und nature. I loff Johann, 
but I leaf him because I loff the einsames M adchen more 
tifferent ass! Ah! der happiness und der regret! It was 
all close, like goot brudders. There is mein past, all 
close to mein present and to mein future, until I cannot 
tell my past from my future, maype: it get so besturzt .” 

He gently combed out the newly curled hair of the 
lately brightened dog, and drew back to observe the 
result. 

“ I will tell Johann mein past to-night. I will tell him 
mein present; und another time, when I shall know it, I 
shall tell him mein future — schon! Alreatty!” His 
decision seemed to bring him comfort, because he took 
his violin from its green baize cover and drew from it a 
desultory note. 


42 


IN HIGH PLACES 


The day was one of impatient waiting to Christopher. 
But mostly, Christopher’s thoughts were with Johann 
Loscher, and accompanying these distractions was a 
deep, broad, underlying spirit of tenderness and love for 
the woman of the table d’hote. 

Once, while recalling the precise moment of the night 
before, when she had left the place, Christopher had 
started up, her sob in his ears, the vision of her soft hair, 
her pathetic girl’s figure in his sight, and he had moved 
as if to go out. 

“No!” he muttered. “Johann does not know al- 
reatty — schon. I will go to her after I haf told him. It 
will be more better ass!” — his speech becoming more 
than usually tangled because of his emotion. He 
replaced the curled and brightened dog in the basket. 

“I would like to gif you a bone, mein Schatz , if you 
wass a true dog; but you are not a dog. No! I do not 
think yet to myself alreatty what you are, netn! Ja /” 
And he shook his head doubtfully. “But I like you 
yet alreatty better than the leettle bright lady’s cat.” 
And Christopher paused reflectively. “ Ja, that leettle 
bright lady — brightened und curled,” he mused, narrow- 
ing his eyes. “ I don’t so much know about that leettle 
lady. She was beautiful mit a queer beauty of a leettle 
devil.” Christopher laughed a bit. “ I could make her 
beautiful red hair more beautiful ass — not mit my curling 
irons! und she loffs the cat. Hein! I laff to see der 
women who loff der cats, und neffer know der cats care 
noddings at all. Ja! I think der leettle lady mit der cat 
is — is one leettle devilish cat herself, maype.” But 
Christopher had not Drayton’s long and tender oppor- 
tunity to form his judgment. However, if Christopher 
did not know much about women, yet he knew a good 
deal about cats. 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 43 


After a time, his thoughts turning introspective again, 
he went to the inner room and took from his trunk a 
letter. It was in a woman’s hand and written in 
German; for a time he read and re-read it, sighing deeply 
the while, and shaking his head. 

“I would be glad if I knew what I should do,” he said 
at last, putting the letter into his pocket and closing the 
trunk. “ I shall ask mein Johann, at last.” 

All the rest of the day he pottered about the apart- 
ment, mostly occupied with some small detail that should 
give pleasure to Johann Loscher. His usually robust 
thoughts seemed to become soft and point to womanish- 
ness ; and his care became applied devotedly to the little 
things: Johann’s wardrobe, which he looked over by 
way of estimating what Johann lacked; Johann’s 
razors, to which he put a finer edge; Johann’s violin, to 
which he fitted some new strings of excellent quality. 
All of these acts were supererogatory, yet necessary to 
Christopher’s peace of mind. 

“He may so soon be mitout me,” Christopher 
sighed. “ Und then, I shall be mitout him,” he 
continued logically. He paused to listen to the sound of 
his robust sigh, and to wonder at it. 

“ Maype it is because she will not loff me,” he thought. 
Then he thought again, more simply. “But yes! — 
because of the great loff for her that is in mein heart.” 

It seemed to Christopher that no one could so have 
loved him as he loved her — offering the devotion and 
tenderness of the whole wide world — without receiving 
instant response. 

At four o’clock Christopher sat down before the fire 
in the early dusk of December, and drew his bow gently. 

“ ‘ Ach t wer bringt die schonen Tage y jene Tage der 
ersten Liebe V Why am I not joyful?” thought 


44 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Christopher as he played; and then he played with a 
light touch, and in less melancholy measure: “ Die 
Sonne sinkt in's tiefe Meer — " which gradually, and all 
unperceived by him, lost its Moderato and fell again into 
the Adagio of Erster Verlust. But presently Christopher 
sat altogether silent, his violin pressed to him and 
resting in the crotch of his arm, his head inclined to one 
side while his eyes studied the glow of the fire. 

Before the evening had quite set in, the silent man 
heard Johann's step upon the stair, and his great head 
rose from his breast, and he passed his hand over his face 
as if briskly to fling off the shadow of melancholy so 
seldom found there, and yet so temperamental. 

Johann's step rang newly as he came, and he was 
singing abstractedly, yet singing a gay measure. 

“He is happy, he is happy!’’ Christopher said, and 
his face shone responsive before the younger man had 
opened the door. 

“You are gay, mein Johann," said Christopher, going 
toward him, smiling. 

Johann Loscher came to the table and stood looking at 
Christopher. 

“I am happy — so happy I think that I shall die, 
Chris." And his beautiful, melancholy eyes gleamed 
at Christopher with a light which had not been before. 
No depression could put out from Christopher's eyes 
the light of fellowship and twinkling gaiety — this, with 
that temperament so sensitive and melancholy! But the 
fascinating melancholy of Johann’s face, all concentrated 
in his eyes, only occasionally gave place to the true 
joyousness that dwelt within. Thus, the eyes are 
not always the windows of the soul. 

“Something has happened to you, tear friend! Some 
glorious thing." Christopher had experienced a moment’s 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 45 


pause, with the thought that soon he himself must 
sadden Johann. 

“I am so happy, Chris, that I no longer feel the heat, 
the cold, the light, the dark: I am apart from myself.' * 
He still stood with his coat on. 

“ — and me, Johann? Apart from me?" Christopher 
felt a sudden pang. 

“No, no! We shall speak together, soon — to-night — 
We shall speak after we have come home." 

“It makes me a queer sensation, to see your choy, 
Johann. If you were not to-morrow so happy — ” The 
light in the young man's eyes went out so suddenly 
that Christopher clapped him on the shoulder. 
“Johann!" he said sharply. 

“It will last — as long as I shall last." The furtive 
threat was something worse to Christopher than a more 
definitely revealed violence of purpose. 

“It is der time to go, Johann. I will get my coat." 
Christopher replaced the green baize cover on the violin 
and got his coat from the inner room. As he prepared 
himself to go out, he frequently looked at Johann, who 
had remained beside the table, while the joy had returned 
to his eyes. Excessive happiness seemed to speak in the 
poise of his body. He stood looking into the fire while 
waiting. 

Christopher placed some cake in the curled and 
brightened dog's basket. 

“Ah!" he murmured. “I wish that some one would 
bring to me one real dog that eats good bones some 
day." 

The gas had not been lighted, hence there was none 
to regulate, and presently the two friends went out. 

As they walked across to Third Avenue, Johann threw 
his arm over Christopher's shoulders. The younger man 


46 


IN HIGH PLACES 


was the taller, with a fine, erect figure, broad of shoulder, 
straight of limb; and he carried himself in soldierly 
fashion, though he had seen no service. Christopher 
walked with more resiliency, though of stocky build; and 
every ounce of flesh, of which he had some slight super- 
fluity, seemed to contribute to his comfort and well- 
being and good cheer. 

Christopher sought to keep up a desultory talk, but 
the emotional pressure was all against it. 

“Chris, you, too, have something to tell,” Johann said 
as they went. “We will talk together to-night: you to 
tell me your sadness, that I may comfort you; and I will 
tell you of my great happiness that I half found in this 
America.” 

“ Ja ! Ja! But I, too, haf goot things to tell, Johann — 
if you tell me I do right. You shall decide what I shall 
do. I shall do what you think — but I shall be happy — 
because we loff — der vorlt!” 

“The world!” Johann exclaimed. His joy was 
irrepressible. 

At the restaurant they went in by the back way, 
and disposing of their coats and green baize covers, came 
out from behind the screen and chaos, into the mean 
room where the early diners were already gathering. A 
general reaction from the holiday spirit seemed to have 
set in. To-morrow the fastidious, blasd young person 
who sat third table from the door would return to the 
ribbon counter, and once more would occupy himself in 
shooting change boxes to the outlying cashier, who was 
posted — nobody ever knew where. 

The four delicatessens were not there: the infant 
delicatessens were having a Christmas tree. As the two 
men entered, they looked simultaneously at the table far 
back near to Christopher's shoulder, where the girl 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 47 


customarily sat; and each was too self-absorbed to know 
the action of the other. The place was vacant. 

Christopher’s disappointment clouded his face, but 
Johann smiled, as if in close communion with himself, 
and Was immediately lost in the tuning of his 
instrument. The diners slowly assembled ; the schedule 
was indifferently glanced at by the four musicians; a 
whiff of scorched soup smote the olfactory nerve, and 
was mingled with the saucers of Parmesan that had been 
placed upon the tables to disguise the deficiencies of 
several of the viands. The two debauched gas jets at 
the side were again lighted, since it was yet Christmas, 
and the limp towels had found a temporary abiding place 
on the corner of the screen that shut out chaos. 

Christopher sat, lost in his own emotions, which were 
troubled, yet dominantly tender; and while a confusion 
of sound was made by his brother players, he softly 
bowed: “ Ach> wer bringt die schonen Tage — ” Then, 
just before the four musicians looked at each other to 
bring about unity of action, Christopher left his place 
and went behind the screen, where he spoke apart with 
the proprietor of the restaurant: 

“Kranich, you will do me von leettle thing. You 
will haff served to effery table, once around, for three 
nights, a pint of Rudesheimer, instead of der leettle 
vinaigre that you gif. I can afford it. After der three 
nights, serf it only to das Fraulein who sits beside me at 
der table far back. I will pay,” 

The proprietor looked at Christopher a moment, con- 
sidered how excellent was the proposition whatever the 
motive, and did not smile. 

“You will say nodding!” Christopher announced. ■ 
“It will cost you thirty-six dollars for the three 
nights ” 


48 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“ I can pay,” remarked Christopher. “And after 
three nights, always to das Fraulein's table. I can pay. 
I pay you part to-night, part to-morrow, the rest der next 
night.” 

“I'll see to it/’ Kranich answered, nodding. Chris- 
topher's sentiment was a continual boon to Kranich. 

The fiddler returned to his place and fell into Second. 

Alter the symphony of the table d'hbte had lasted 
long, Christopher leaned over toward the leader. 

“Hermann,” he said, “would you mind to blay der 
‘Two Roses' to-night?” 

“Now?” 

“ Nem — soon.” And the First Violin nodded, while 
Johann had heard and seen nothing. He now and then 
looked toward the door, and then toward the table back 
by the wet towel gas jets. Otherwise he looked within 
and was happy. At seven o'clock, Christopher, who 
was steadily watching the entrance to the restaurant, 
straightened in his chair. 

“ Der ‘ Roses ' ” — he said to the First Violin, who nodded 
and communicated with the other three, who mechan- 
ically played. 

Not so with Brun. His glance “was following the girl 
who had entered, and he played with his eyes upon her 
as she passed from the door to her seat at the table ; and 
Christopher's music was played in accord with his heart 
beats. The girl did not look at him, but as he did not 
follow her glance he could not know that it bore 
a greeting to Johann. He noted only the new glory of 
her face: a kind of warm happiness rested there. 

He saw the waiter place a pint of Rudesheimer beside 
her plate; his happiness was very great, and he looked 
toward the proprietor, whose eyes met his with under- 
standing. Presently, Kranich came and stood near to 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 49 


Christopher, who passed a ten dollar bill beneath the 
dirty-dishes tray, at which surreptitious gain Kranich 
nodded. 

When Christopher, with his face full of a tender 
happiness, glanced at Johann, the young German’s eyes 
were upon his violin, and his face was pale. 

“Aie you sick?” As Christopher asked the question, 
he felt a clutch of apprehension at his heart. 

“1?” Johann looked up in surprise. “No, I am not 
sick, Christopher. I am — happy.” And his avoid- 
ance of the girl before him was full of passionate meaning. 
Christopher only recognised the almost annihilative 
happiness in his friend’s bearing, its cause being all 
uncomprehended. 

“We shall talk to-night/’ he said to himself. 

“ Ach! She is drinking — what is it — Niersteiner?” 
Johann suddenly leaned forward and spoke while he 
played. 

“Rudesheimer,” Christopher answered him with satis- 
faction. “Kranich is serving it to all,” he added lacon- 
ically. Johann glanced about and lifted his brows. 

“Christmas,” added Christopher in explanation. 
“ Besides, he sometimes puts his vinaigre ortinaire in goot 
bottles. Maype he will keep on.” 

“I hope it is Rudesheimer — to-night,” Johann 
answered, with a nervous twitch of his lip. 

“It is ” — ignorant of the celebration to which he had 
subscribed. 

After a while the intent woman who played upon the 
table-cloth, arose and went home without her kirsch: 
she was retrenching with the New Year. 

After her went the blas£ young man, but the young 
girl so beloved still lingered. Johann Loscher’s burning 
glance went unobserved by Christopher; besides, Johann 


5 ° 


IN HIGH PLACES 


permitted himself to look at her but seldom. All his 
enthusiastic nature was aroused; soul and mind were 
involved. His transports of grief, joy, friendship, love, 
passion, possessed cataleptic elements, and produced the 
more intense effect because of his usually indolent habit. 
It was the smoulder of these passions, all of which he 
seemed on the instant capable of experiencing, that 
accounted largely for the magnetic fascination of his 
personality. His abundant light hair and fine gray eyes 
went for naught unless one began to inventory his 
advantages, in which case one knew those features to 
be pleasing. 

Just before the end of the schedule was reached, the 
girl left the place. The room no longer shone for Chris- 
topher. A little later, when the four musicians were 
ready to go, Christopher and Johann walked a little way 
ahead. 

“Hola! You are not stopping?” called the Bass Viol 
from the entrance to Goerwitz. 

“Not to-night, Franz,” Johann Loscher answered for 
both, as he felt the responsive pressure of Christopher’s 
arm. And so the men separated, the two friends going 
south. They spoke but little on the way, each seeming 
to be occupied with his own thoughts, yet quite con- 
scious of each other in small ways: the younger man 
giving place to the older one in crossing streets and in 
boarding cars. In the unceremony and hurry of life, 
these niceties of conduct were ordinarily disregarded. 
On the way home Christopher turned once, with a short 
laugh. 

“You take care of me; you think I am beginning to 
grow olt!” And there was a note of annoyance in his 
voice. 

“ It is that I loff you, Chris,” Johann answered simply, 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 51 


while Christopher stopped in the street and looked at him 
with his heart in his eyes. 

“ J a! Ja! I know,” he said, and when they walked 
over to Second Avenue they went hand in hand, and 
thus mounted the stairs to their apartment, together. 

“Ah! I am glad to be at home,” Johann said as he 
put his key into the lock. 

The men removed their coats and busied themselves 
with small things, feeling a kind of innocent em- 
barrassment upon them; at least, Christopher busied 
himself; Johann stood emotionally a-smoulder by 
the fire. Christopher stooped down to pat the bright- 
ened and curled dog in the basket, after which he 
remarked contemplatively: 

“ If only a dog would come who would eat der bones — ” 
and he placed another piece of cake in the basket. 

After he had exhausted his ingenuity in finding things 
to do, he suddenly bethought him of the midnight beer. 
He went to the window upon whose sill there always 
stood a reasonable number of bottles; and then he 
paused as if struck with a new thought. 

“We will haff der Johannisberger to-night,” he said; 
and going to the cupboard, he brought forth the wine 
that had long been kept for some extreme moment like 
the present, and two glasses. After placing the bottle 
upon the table, Christopher cried with forced gaiety: 

“Come, mein Johann!” And Johann turned and 
looked at the table and Christopher’s preparations, 
smiled and sat. 

“Now!” said Christopher, pouring the wine into 
glasses exquisitely suitable, and with a fine frost-like 
etching of the grape about their edges. 

“If I should leave you, Chris?” Johann said, leaning 
across the table and avoiding Christopher’s eye 


52 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“ Ach /” Christopher started. “I should miss you.” 
Strangely enough, he had never once thought that 
Johann’s happiness might involve their separation, 
although he had thought especially of that formidable 
detail in reckoning his own case. 

'‘I can speak of it no more now, Chris,” Johann said 
suddenly, looking about the place, and moving the 
delicate stem of the glass between his thumb and finger. 
'‘Come! Your secret first. Let us speak of my happi- 
ness later. Now it still chokes me. Speak of it all: 
your hopes, your past ” 

“Ach! Mein past, yes. I will speak. It is sad 
beyond belief, I think; so schdn , so sad, so full of — of 
der excitement to der heart.” 

“Speak,” said Johann, leaning forward attentively 
and watching the wine reverse itself while he slowly 
twirled the glass. “Tell me of that which has saddened 
you who are so gay.” 

“I will tell. I loffed — a dear Madchen pefore I 
knew you. I wass drawn and went to serve in der army 
and I returned— and she was gone. She was married 
and gone. I neffer saw her again any more. That was 
mein past.” And Christopher looked into the fire with 
a glistening eye. 

Johann raised his face and regarded him. The shadow 
of a smile was on his lips, but his expression 
responded sympathetically to the older man’s sim- 
plicity. 

“Ah!” he said, “you carry that sadness in your heart 
when you laugh, my Chris.” And Johann reached out 
his hand. 

“But my present. You haff not heard my present, 
Johann: it is some of mein future. It is here,” he 
said and drew from his pocket the letter he had taken 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 53 


from his trunk in the afternoon. Johann took the letter 
and bent over it. 

‘‘Read it aloud, Johann. It is best that I shall hear 
it more, already. 1 * 

It was dated two years back, and from a small town 
in the Thuringian mountains. Johann read: 

My dear Cousin — I write to you in great anxiety and distress. 
Since you have gone from Munich to America my mother has 
died and I am living with my aunt in this place. 

I am not happy. It is not proper for me to work in hard 
ways for my living, because of my family; and it is even less 
dewsirable that I should live upon my aunt’s charity. More 
than that, I am distressed by the love of one for whom I care 
nothing, and whom my aunt wishes me to marry 

1 have no one else in the world to turn to but you, whom 
I have never seen, but of whom my mother spoke often and 
with affection and admiration. If I might go to America, 
where I could work and earn my bread in peace, I would be 
so glad, dear Cousin; and now that you know all, perhaps you 
can advise and comfort me. I am awaiting your answer with 
what patience I may. 

The letter was written in excellent German and signed 
“Elisabeth Waagen,” and its simple confidence and 
appeal touched Johann Loscher. 

“The letter is old, Christopher. What did you do?” 
he asked, studying it again. 

il Ach! What did I do! I wrote by der instant post. 
I sent der money. I wrote 'come — and be mein wife 
if you find me not too ugly, because I will be kind and 
useful to you. Come.’ ” 

“Well?” 

“She is not here,” Christopher answered with a con- 
fused motion of his hands, while looking about the room 
as if to prove it. 

“Did she not write?” 


54 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“No, she did not write. But I wrote me to her again 
and to der people where she lifted, and she wass gone. 
My letter wass come to her, and der money, and she 
read der letter and took der money and wass gone, and 
effery body tried to find her like I did. But that is all. 
I haff neffer find her for two years.” Johann rose 
nervously. 

“Is she lost? Is she — We must find her, Chris. Do 
you love her?” The younger man was touched and dis- 
turbed at the situation. Christopher shrugged his 
massive shoulders and spoke helplessly: 

“I haff not seen her; but I could haff been useful and 
goot to der poor einsames Madchen. I would haff loffed 
her sadness and made it mein own. But now — that is 
my present; I haff a future, Hans. I do not know what 
it is — my future — till you tell me. I loff a Madchen — 
and she is einsam too. It is not der one I haff not seen. 
I haff seen this one many times.” Loscher looked at him 
in amazement, then their hands met and clasped across 
the table ; the wine stood as yet untouched between them. 

“I do not know why I should not have seen it, Chris. 
I have been selfish, too absorbed in my own affairs. 
You will marry.” 

“How do I know if you do not tell me that?” Chris- 
topher cried. “Is there not Elisabeth? And am I not 
to remember mein promise? And if she got herself 
found — oh, I do not know! My heart bursts. It bursts 
mit sadness for Elisabeth ‘and mit loff for this dear 
Madchen. I loff her as mein eyes.” 

“You must marry, Christopher.” Loscher arose and 
walked about the room.“ You might wait a lifetime 
for Elisabeth Waagen and never find her. You must 
marry, dear friend. I loff you and your honour, and 
you will listen to me and marry. I say it, Christopher. 


HOW LOW-LIFE WAGGED THAT DAY 55 


If Elisabeth is found, you shall make her happy: you and 
your wife. Maybe she would not have loved you. You 
must marry this woman that you love thus, my Chris.” 

Johann was ablaze with energy and feeling, and he 
came and stood opposite Christopher, beside the table. 
Christopher, too, had risen. 

“ Since you, too, loff and will go away, and you tell 
me it is right, I will marry — if — if she will loff me.” 

“You do not know?” 

“I haff never to her spoke — just smiled my true loff 
at her; but I know her well: I have looked into her eyes 
many times.” 

“She will loff you, Christopher. You will marry.” 

“ Ach /” he cried, all his huge body trembling with 
emotion. “You make my heart to sing like der lark. 
I would tell it to you if I could — that beautifulness which 
I feel. Ja! It is a perfume, is this loff, that wraps all 
my body. Oh Hans, a leettle tender Madchen , that I 
will put mein arms about to keep off all der sadness.” 
He dropped into his chair with a sound that was half sob, 
half laughter. 

Johann stood looking down at Christopher’s great 
head resting upon his arms, and his eyes were full of 
tears. Such paroxysmal joy was well understood by 
Johann Loscher. For a moment there was silence in the 
room save for Christopher’s breathing, which was heavy 
with excitement. 

“I can speak better now of my own affairs, Chris. I 
was afraid to tell you that I must leave you all alone. 
Now you will be able to understand for me, as I for you. 
I would not speak till I was sure. I was afraid to make 
you sad without cause: maybe she could not love me. 
But I went to-day, and it is true she loffs me and will 
be my wife. I haff known her for months. I tried for 


IN HIGH PLACES 


56 

weeks to know her and then the policeman on the corner 
introduced me. She was nearly run offer one night and 
the policeman safed her. He knew me, we knew each 
other, now we all know one another, each. I loff her.” 
Christopher reached for Losche's hand and clasped it, 
without raising his head from his arms. He was twice 
happy: happy in his own fortunes and in Johann’s. 

“She loffs me,” Loscher continued to speak. “ When 
she came to-night to sit at the table d’hote” — ^Chris- 
topher lifted his head — “I could not look at her, I loff 
her so. Before, we could look across your shoulder into 
each other’s eyes, and think and think how much we loff; 
but to-night we could not. We loff too well. She will 
be my wife. I have been glad that she sat at the table 
so close to you, beside your great shoulder. We haff 
sometimes spoken of it, and then we haff laughed to- 
gether and I haff told her she must loff you because you 
are my friend.” He paused and looked at the fire and 
Christopher did not move. After a moment Johann 
became conscious of something unaccustomed in the 
silence, and turned to the motionless figure at the table, 
which seemed no longer to breathe. 

“You do not speak, Chris.” 

Christopher slowly rose and stood, his eyes cast down. 

“I am tying,” he said, slowly and with difficult articu- 
lation. Johann looked at him, terrified by the pallor 
of his face and by the fearful lines about his mouth. 

“Why are you like this?” he cried, and put his arm 
about him. 

“ Because,” Christopher answered with frightful effort, 
“because we must part. Here’s to your loff; here’s to 
her happiness. Here’s to your healt’; here’s to your 
happiness — here’s to my brudder Johann.” And he 
drank the Johannisberger. 




CHAPTER III 

HOW LOW-LIFE MET THE OBLIGATION 

T HE day broke, dull and depressing, and Johann 
took the initiative by rising to light the fire. 
Christopher was sleeping heavily. Johann had been 
awake all the early part of the night, and although he had 
heard no sounds of wakefulness from the bed where 
Christopher slept, he had known by reason of that 
sympathetic relation that had for so long existed be- 
tween them, that Christopher had not slept; his morning 
sleep then, was the sleep of exhaustion. After Johann 
got his bath, dressed himself and was prepared to go out, 
he returned to the inner room and stood beside Christo- 
pher’s bed. 

The veins of the sleeping man’s heavy eyelids were 
swollen and dark, and his face was puffed and of an 
unwholesome colour. He did not seem to breathe, but 
rested, a great inert mass, with the bedclothes stretched 
tightly across his shoulder, because he had turned rest- 
lessly upon them. 

The muscles of his face twitched spasmodically, as 
Johann looked at him; and this was the exhibition of a 
strange neuropathic condition hitherto unknown to 
Christopher. 

It seemed strange to Johann that the thought of their 
separation, under circumstances so joyous to them both, 
should have produced this startling change in the older 
man. He moved cautiously toward the door and went 
out to pick his way with a nice discrimination for the dry 

57 


58 


IN HIGH PLACES 


places, along the pavement made sticky by a soft, light 
snow that had fallen in the night; and which by now had 
been stamped into a nauseous paste by countless feet. 

It was ten o’clock, and the people and the weather 
seemed to Johann to be upon their worst behaviour. He 
reflected as he went along, stepping charily like a cat, 
upon gratings, close to show-cases, any place where the 
ooze seemed to him to be least offensive, that this morn- 
ing should be the happiest in the lives of Christopher and 
himself. There seemed to him to be some secret under- 
lying the ghastly appearance of his old friend and his 
wakeful night. If so, Christopher would speak when he 
wished Johann to share in his distress. 

After traversing the block, he turned in at a small 
basement restaurant, where wedges of pie and cups of 
petrified custard were displayed in a window at the right 
of the door. The custard appeared to be the result of 
some mathematical calculation, and to be scientifically 
constructed, instead of being the irregular result of 
culinary art. Each cup of custard bore a brown film, 
always the size of a quarter of a dollar, that formed a 
dark, shining, smooth appearance, and this spot toned 
from within outward to an egg-yellow, losing lustre and 
acquiring a wrinkled surface. Also there appeared to be 
a piece, of precisely the same size, chipped from the lip 
of each cup at the same point of the circle. It was quite 
improbable that anyone ate of these custards and pies. 
The window at the other side of the door — because it 
was a restaurant of some degree and had double windows 
— contained indifferent heads of celery, wedged between 
less indifferent cuts of beef and some cooked lobsters. 
There were raised aluminum letters upon the windows, 
stating in crescent form that it was a Surpassing Res- 
taurant; the^i beneath, in straight line, the sign read: 


HOW LOW-LIFE MET THE OBLIGATION 59 


Open All Night. The equal length of the words in the 
crescent, and the legend below proclaimed in slightly 
smaller letters, presented a very symmetrical and al- 
together elegant appearance, while the representation 
within doubtless created appetites for some people, if 
it was gustatorially destructive to others. In this place 
was where Johann and Christopher breakfasted: the 
coffee was very good, and that implied breakfast to the 
two friends ; all that went with it was mere gastronomic 
coquetry: they could have done as well without it. All 
but the coffee was simply an excuse for idling through 
the hour, and adjusting themselves to their day. It was 
their custom at one o’clock to go elsewhere for a heavy 
meal; and they were then captious about the cooking 
and ate enormously of thick soups and roasts and of 
coarse vegetables, finely prepared; and they drank 
reasonably of draught beer. At four o’clock they drank 
coffee in their own rooms, and at night they snatched 
something — they knew not what nor did they care — 
from the table d’hdte. Whatever it was, was not worth 
eating they knew, hence they never thought about it. 
Sometimes, after the musicians had finished their work, 
they went altogether to some place where the cooking 
was German and decent, and to where other late birds 
like themselves repaired; then the four workfellows ate 
a hot something, and always Liptauer Garnirt , the 
cheese of Hades; powdered thick with red pepper. This 
nondescript meal they seasoned with talk and tobacco. 
When this occurred, or when the two men went off to- 
gether and supped by themselves, it was the pleasure 
hour of the twenty-four to them. 

This muggy after-Christmas morning, seemed all 
unpropitious to Johann, drinking his coffee alone in the 
basement restaurant. He found that he could not read 


6o 


IN HIGH PLACES 


his paper, hence he swallowed his coffee without tasting 
it, and hastened back to their rooms. 

He found Christopher sitting upon the side of his bed, 
just aroused. 

“Ach!" he said, a smile struggling into his heavy face, 
which was badly swollen by his unnatural sleep, “you 
haff been out, Johann?” 

“I have had my coffee,” Johann answered, putting 
his hand on Christopher's shoulder. These manifes- 
tations of affection were common between them; often 
the friends, sitting together without speech, each 
absorbed in his own thoughts, would thus express, by 
a touch of the hand, their pleased consciousness of the 
other's presence. “What can I do for you, Chris?” 

“ Forme? Nodding. Der cold water will wake me up,” 
he said, moving cumbrously, and going out to the bath 
across the hall, while he took his towels from a drawer in 
the bureau that he passed on his way. The towels fell 
unfolded, and dragged along the floor behind him. His 
giant muscles had become flaccid, and his whole system 
enervated. Johann watched him, startled at the change 
that seemed to have taken place in the man before his 
eyes. 

After Christopher had gone out, Johann took off his 
coat and went to the cupboard where the Germans kept 
all sorts of things with which to prepare some slight 
repast when they desired. Their afternoon coffee taken 
in their rooms and made by themselves, was the coffee 
they most enjoyed. 

Johann measured the coffee and boiled the water while 
Christopher was still splashing like a great hippopotamus 
in the room across the hall. When he reentered the bed- 
room by way of the hall, he called in that guttural voice 
caused by a relaxation of the vocal cords: 


HOW LOW-LIFE MET THE OBLIGATION 61 


“I smell der coffee. Is it you, Johann?” 

“ Ja ! Ich hab y es mir fur dich gemacht, Chris” 

The German language, which they seldom permitted 
themselves to speak together, because it was by a con- 
versational method that they were learning the English 
which it was so essential for them to know, touched a 
chord of sentiment in Christopher, and he came to the 
door between the rooms, while clothed only in his trousers 
and undershirt. He stood looking at Johann and the 
coffee-pot ; then the tears gathered in his eyes. 

“Du bist mein guter Hans ,” he said, and went back 
into the bedroom. He experienced the relief of tears; 
they seemed to make less tension about his heart and 
throat, and he finished dressing at his leisure, but with 
more courage. Johann went out once more to get the 
rolls which were covered thick with coriander. 

When Christopher sat at the table with his coffee 
before him, Johann observed that the drawn expression 
of his face was gone, and while he looked heavy and ill, 
yet his colour was returning and his features wore the 
more familiar expression. 

“Is there anything that I can do, Chris?” he asked 
again. 

“No,” Christopher answered. “No, you haff made 
der coffee, and set my heart beating again,” and he 
laughed with an effort. “It hass chased der copweps 
away.” 

“You must get another job, Chris. I want you to be 
First Violin.” 

“I der First?” Christopher, lying back in his chair at 
ease, and with his coffee before him, chuckled. “It is 
you, mein Hans, who must be der First. I haff been 
thinking in der night.” Johann did not reply. He had 
known that Christopher would presently reveal that 


62 


IN HIGH PLACES 


which he so desired to know: the cause of his unhappi- 
ness. He would not question, lest he seem to make 
some untactful demand upon Christopher’s confidence. 

“You will marry. To be sure you haff a job, and der 
prightened dogs ; it is a good income ” 

“ I have simply my seven dollars a week, Christopher. 
The dogs are yours. It is you who are the clever one, 
the useful one.” 

“If I haff der dogs, then so haff you,” Christopher 
returned in a definite, irritable tone. He could not 
tolerate opposition, even implied, in his present con- 
dition of nervous exacerbation. “We haff about thirty - 
eight or sometimes forty dollars a week. We haff safed 
some money. We do not spend too much, alreatty. 
Now we will spend less. You can marry now, to-day. 
We haff der money. But you will want to advance 
yourself ; you will haff need of money more and more as 
der time goes. You must get to be der First Violin 
somewheres ” 

“What! Then you, too, must leave the table d’hdte. 
We shall go together. I cannot have a place without 
you.” 

“That don’t make no difference alreatty,” Christo- 
pher answered with some excitability of manner. “I 
shall not leaf der table d’hdte. I haff decided. You 
must go some goot blace and be First Fiddle.” 

“You as well as I, will need the new income, Chris- 
topher,” Johann urged, trying to be tactful. 

“ I need noddings I haff not got. When der time 
comes that you will marry — and it shall be now — I shall 
go away from der rooms, and mein seven dollars a week 
will get me a blace to liff where I can do der dogs in der 
basement. I shall not need der money of der lapdogs 
for myself. I shall prighten der dogs for company.” 


HOW LOW-LIFE MET THE OBLIGATION 63 


“You will have to live as I do.” 

“No I will not. I shall not marry. I shall not 
marry!” he shouted, as Johann looked at him in 
amazement. 

“ Now, I am a cross olt man, mein Hans. I shout and 
I cry and I make a noise, because I loff you, maybe. 
Do not mind. Now I will tell you, mein Hans, what I 
haff thought in der night. I haff thought of der poor 
emsames girl. If she get herself found and is in trouble, 
what would I do mit a wife ? I haff to keep mein promise 
to Elisabeth Waagen. If I marry and make mein 
self happy, I think what if Elisabeth get herself found, 
all of der time. It is no use. I haff thought, and now 
I will not marry.” 

“But you are mad, Chris. You loff as I loff Aline. 
You must marry. Maybe Elisabeth Waagen has 
already a husband; and if she has not, maybe she would 
not wish to marry you. Then you could be more kind 
to her if you had a wife, /a/” 

He abandoned himself to ultra Germanic expression, 
in his earnestness. 

“I shall keep mein promise and wait,” Christopher 
said. After a moment, during which both men were 
silent, Johann spoke earnestly: 

“Christopher, you are a good man. Perhaps it is 
right, that, I do not know! You are far better as 
I, and you know better what to do; but it has made 
you so sad, that in one few hours you are different. If 
you do not marry, then I shall stay with you till maybe 
you find Elisabeth Waagen.” 

The words cost Johann his very heartbeats; and the 
full sense of all that this would mean to him created a 
frightful internal spasm which he determined should not 
become apparent to Christopher. 


64 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“You will not, effer! No! I will haff you marry. 
What! you think I am like this because I giff you up, 
because I loose you? No: because I giff der tear Madchen 
up that I haff told you.” Then he leaned across the 
table to lay his hand upon Johann’s shoulder. 

“I am an olt man; an olt fool, mein Johann. It is 
settled. You will marry right away, schon! And I, not 
you, shall find Elisabeth Waagen. I will mind mein own 
affairs. I will prighten der dogs and play mein fiddle 
and look for Elisabeth.” 

Johann cogitated a moment. He had Christopher’s 
secret: it was the self-sacrifice he had planned which 
had brought him so low. Johann decided it was his 
duty to regulate matters. 

“Now I will tell you, my Chris. I, too, have made 
up my mind. I leave almost all matters to you, but 
not this time. I say to you that if you do not go ask the 
woman you loff, to marry you — now, to-day — I will 
never marry Aline any time. After you have asked 
your loff to marry you, you can look for Elisabeth ; but 
if you do not go, now at once, I will live here as I always 
have and I will never marry. You can decide.” Chris- 
topher stared at him. Finality was in Johann’s eye and 
voice. 

“You loff the woman you haff told me of ” 

“Well, what of it?” Christopher asked slowly as the 
situation made by Johann’s ignorance and his own half 
self-betrayal dawned full upon him. Was Johann going 
to give him no peace till he had asked the woman to marry 
him — the woman Johann loved? Then Christopher 
remembered that Johann did not know it was his Aline. 

“This is Sunday night,” Johann said. “ I do not play. 
Now you have had coffee, you are looking as fine as effer. 
You are going to dress yourself in your best clothes, this 


HOW LOW-LIFE MET THE OBLIGATION 65 


effening, and I am going for a carriage and you are 
going to that woman you have loffed for so long and say 
to her as I would say to my Aline, that you loff her. 
Then together, we will save each other’s money and be 
comfortably married before the music engagement in 
September. We shall all live together; we shall all be 
happy; and you will never look sick again.” Johann 
spoke with decision, and awaited Christopher’s reply- 
Brun stared at him stupidly. 

“You are crazy,” Christopher gasped. 

“No, I am arranging things, and you must do as I 
say.” No more was said till toward night, when Johann 
got up and began to lay out Christopher’s clean shirt 
and his evening clothes, as if it were time for the table 
d’hote. 

“Johann,” Christopher called, feeling a fearful, 
physical weakness creeping upon him, “I cannot go. 
Maybe she does not loff me — ” he urged. He was cast- 
ing helplessly about for an excuse. This new and appall- 
ing whim of fate had never occurred to him as possible. 

“Well, we will find out. If she does not loff you, she 
is crazy.” And he began to urge Christopher to dress 
himself, while helping him devotedly. 

“Where shall I go?” Christopher cried in desperation. 

“Where the woman you loff is, to be sure.” 

“Oh, you are mat, mein Johann! You haff lost your 
mind. I am an olt man. You will kill me.” 

“No,” said Johann doggedly, determined to have his 
own way since, in his belief, it was for Christopher’s 
happiness. “Why should you not go? What excuse 
have you?” 

“ I will go, I will go. I haff no excuse — except that 
I am olt.” Johann laughed: the reason was obviously 
absurd. 


66 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“You must go,” he said, as he buttoned Christopher’s 
collar at the back, while Christopher stood with plaintive 
resignation, abandoning himself to his peculiar fate and 
to Johann’s strength and loyal, if destructive, purpose. 

He mechanically watched Johann looking through the 
drawer, for a box of lawn ties. The men purchased these 
things wholesale to keep themselves supplied for their 
nightly engagements. He found a box of “ready-made ” 
and rejected them. 

“These hurry-up ties, for the table d’hote, will not 
do. I must find the others.” Christopher stood in 
amazement and confusion, looking impersonally on. 

The desired box of ties was found and Johann ruined 
one in the process of learning that he could not adjust 
it to another man. “You must tie it yourself,” he said, 
handing Christopher a fresh one. Christopher did as he 
was bid. He had become quite passive in Johann’s now 
dominant hands. His own hands did not tremble; 
his faculties were half paralysed rather than excited. 
When his toilet was complete Johann regarded him 
approvingly. 

“That will do,” he said. “Now sit down till I get a 
cab,” and he went out. Christopher sat in his chair and 
stared at the lapdog which had comfortably curled itself 
down upon the bench; and suddenly he burst into a 
boisterous laugh, while his entire frame trembled 
violently. 

“Look at me, mein Schatz!” he cried to the dog. 
“Am I not a funny thing? — this joke as I am? I shall 
tye mit laughing tears like this. I am all dressed up in 
mein fine clothes to go and tell somebody that I loff 
her.” And he lay back gasping. A pain in the region 
of his heart, which he had felt all night, at that moment 
was returning and, too, at that moment, he had heard 


HOW LOW-LIFE MET THE OBLIGATION 67 


Johann mounting the stairs. The step of each spoke as 
words to the other. Johann entered with a bouquet 
in his hand. 

‘‘The cab is below. I found one on the comer. I 
got you these beautiful flowers for her, Chris, and one 
for you to wear in your buttonhole.” 

The half sick man stood looking stolidly into Johann’s 
eyes. Christopher’s was a fine face, his head leonine, and 
even in pain and bewilderment he lost nothing of his 
look of distinction. 

While personal ugliness is, in itself, pathetic, it is too 
painful to evoke much sympathy, even in the direst 
suffering. But if Christopher’s eye had lost its sparkle 
in the night before, it had acquired a dumb, questioning 
pathos which left the mind all alive with tender feeling 
and response. 

“There! If you are not strong enough, my Chris, I 
will go with you,” vaguely perceiving something of 
Christopher’s condition. 

“Go mit me?” Christopher cried, taking his bouquet. 
“You make me laugh.” And he tried to control the 
spasmodic twitching of his features. “I can make my 
own loff. I am not so sick that you need to make my 
loff for me.” Johann observed with elation the enthu- 
siasm in Christopher’s tone, and he embraced him. 

“ Good,” he said, “now we shall be happy! You would 
not have been sick at all, if I had always arranged things. 
Where shall he drive?” 

“Go, go,” cried Christopher heroically, as they reached 
the pavement, “ I will tell him, myself. I will attend to 
all my loff affair.” And Johann laughed delightedly and 
retired to the doorway while Christopher said in a lower 
tone to the cabman: 

“Take me away from here quick — anywheres.” Then 


68 


IN HIGH PLACES 


as he looked from the window of the cab, he gaily waved 
his hand at Johann. 

Two hours later, as Johann sat awaiting Christopher, 
a bottle of Johannisberger upon the table, he sprang up 
with a sudden and fearful sense of apprehension, as he 
heard a stumbling step upon the stairs. He arose 
and stood facing the doorway, feeling that he dared not 
go toward it. Misfortune seemed suddenly in the 
atmosphere. Christopher opened the door. The play 
had been too hard on him; the pain in his heart very 
bad. “She does not loff me, mein Hans, and I must lie 
down,” Christopher whispered. Johann eased him 
on to the bed. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING ITSELF 
MEANWHILE 

O N THE Monday following Christmas, when Drayton 
reached his office, Wolfschon was already there: 
a thing which did not often happen. 

“Good-morning,” Drayton said, with an elegance of 
manner that was bom with him, and which was the out- 
ward symbol of a native kindness. 

“The Stock Market opened strong this morning 
Drayton,” Wolfschon remarked, with a forward, gal- 
linaceous movement of his head on a long and stringy 
neck. 

“ I thought it would. Is Mrs. Wolfschon better? ” 
“Repecca? She’s all right now. She took a rite 
yesterday;” and once again Wolfschon moved his head 
peculiarly upon its axis; “she put cotton on her shest, 
and speaking of cotton — ” but Drayton had already 
passed within his own office. 

“Good-morning,” he said again, and Jean Merideth, 
at a desk on the far side of the room, had responded ; but 
she only half glanced up till Drayton had disappeared 
within the little room and was removing his coat. Then 
she lifted her face and followed his least movement 
with steady eyes. When he turned again, she was 
bent over her desk. She had much dark hair piled atop 
of her head. 

“This letter from London demands a tactful answer, 
Mr. Drayton. Not too much, not too little. I’ve left 
69 


7 ° 


IN HIGH PLACES 


it: you had better give it your personal attention. No 
cable from London yet. Mr. Henley was in yesterday 
afternoon after you had gone.” She paused a moment 
and seemed to become absorbed in fastening her cuff-pin 
of three turquoises. “I don't know what he wanted; 
that is, I don't know specifically what he came for. In 
a general way, he wanted to learn something about 
International Copper.” Drayton half smiled and sat 
down. 

“Thank you,” he said. It did not occur to him to 
ask the woman whom Henley saw, or if he learned any- 
thing. Henley saw her , Drayton’s secretary, of course, 
and of course he didn't find out anything. For a mo- 
ment he looked at her with some curiosity. He was 
trying to identify her with the woman he had seen on 
Christmas Eve, over by the river. 

Drayton took the letter that required a tactful answer, 
and placed it at the bottom of the pile; then he rang the 
bell. The boy came. He closed the door carelessly, 
then returned and did it over again softly: as if to show 
that, after all, he knew how to do such things as they 
were done in polite society. 

“I beg your pardon,” Drayton said. “I thought I 
rang twice short, once long.” Drayton assumed a mis- 
take on his own part rather than on the part of someone 
else: that was his method. 

“Yes, sir; but Mr. Rorke has not come down yet.” 

“Please say to Mr. Rorke when he comes, that I am 
sorry I arrived too early. In the meantime, I would like 
a conference with Mr. Wolfschon and Mr. Stebbins.” 
The boy went out, banged the door, instantly returned 
and re-opened, then re-closed it softly in polite society’s 
interests. Drayton bent over his papers and disposed 
of them with haste and precision. His application was 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING 71 


only superficial, however; his thoughts were else- 
where. Of late habit alone enabled him to maintain his 
commercial air. 

Once, when there was some extraordinary rustling of 
Drayton’s papers, his secretary rose without a prelimi- 
nary glance in his direction, and with a strange per- 
cipience, put something into his hands that he had 
apparently sought; he said 4 ‘thank you” without look- 
ing up. 

She was his machine, self-adjusting, and worked all of 
the time, as Drayton did. 

Notwithstanding the business surroundings and the 
fevered atmosphere of haste and self-repression, Drayton 
seemed to relax upon entering his private room where 
there was no presence but that of Jean Merideth. 

The boy came back while Drayton was frowning at a 
sheet of paper, covered with official statements; but 
before he could speak, Drayton’s secretary had motioned 
him to her and had listened to what he had to say. She 
did not indicate that he speak quietly: that was under- 
stood by any one who spoke to her. She had impressed 
the entire establishment with that necessity, years 
before. No one ever forgot it. But the boy’s method of 
self-repression was not commonplace, hence she waited 
for him to deliver himself of the first three words shrilly 
and then to drop down to a vibratory whisper: 

“Mr. Rorke has — Mr. Rorke has come, and — ” 
She rose and went out with the boy in front of her. She 
returned in less than five minutes, and said in a tone 
that did not distract Drayton from his temporary 
occupation: 

“Mr. Rorke has come. He will not be late again. 
Will you see him first or have the meeting with Wolfsch6n 
and Stebbins?” 


72 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Rorke,” Drayton replied, not looking up. She 
touched his bell — two short, one long — and sat down at 
her desk. 

She did not look up while Rorke was in the room, 
save once. 

Rorke was Drayton’s man of personal business: when 
Drayton added to his racing stable, which he had to 
leave his trainer to enjoy, he told Rorke to see to it; 
when he bought up an Adirondack lake or forest, which 
he had to leave Rosalie to enjoy, he told Rorke to attend 
to that. The more important things he left in the 
woman’s hands. 

“ I want a yacht. Something better than the Henley’s, 
something better than the Van Vorst’s, better than 
anybody’s. Leave nothing out! service, everything. 
It must be ready for the Cowes season.” 

“What is to be done with the Rosalie ?” 

“Keep her. I shall use her myself — if I have the 
time.” 

His secretary adjusted the pin on her sleeve; she 
invariably fingered this utile decoration when mentally 
perturbed. 

“When everything is complete, communicate with 
Mrs. Drayton” — his secretary looked up — “and if she is 
not satisfied, do it all over again.” 

Mr. Rorke began to leave the room, removing a chair 
in the way, and letting its hind legs down very, very 
gently when he replaced it. When he went out, he 
turned the knob of the door completely and closed the 
door very, very softly, as if some one were dead; then he 
released the door knob by degrees. The secretary always 
looked up at this performance. It was the only thing 
about the place that distracted her. She bore with it 
stoically. 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING 73 


“Stebbins and Wolfschon are in the directors’ room,” 
she reminded Drayton, and crossed to his desk as he rose 
taking a package of papers from one of the pigeon- 
holes, then she went to the safe and opened a private 
drawer with a little key worn on a slight golden chain 
that hung about her neck, and which was always tucked 
away out of sight except when needed. She took another 
bundle of papers from the drawer and with the first 
package she thrust them into Drayton’s hands. 

“ I suppose it is the I. and S. S. matter? ” she asked as 
she looked into his face, a thing she seldom did, and she 
indicated the papers in his hands. Drayton followed 
her glance. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” He put 
his hand over his eyes for an instant. “ I think I should 
thank you differently some way. The habitual way 
does not seem adequate to-day. You are very land and 
thoughtful; and when I have the time” — he paused 
and became absorbed in something else and passed out 
of the door. 

She stood where he had left her beside the safe, and 
looked at the closed door. Then she went into the inner 
room where his coat hung and laid her cheek against his 
coat sleeve. She stood thus for some moments. There 
was no change in her expression. She probably looked 
highbred even in her sleep, and she appeared quite 
unemotional as she walked back into the next room. 

She immediately resumed her work where she had left 
it off, and after a moment rang the bell. The boy 
banged the door, then said: 

“Mr. Henley is waiting to see Mr. Drayton.” 

“He cannot see him. Mr. Drayton is in conference. 
Say to Mr. Clem I wish to get out the morning’s letters.” 
The boy went out, and presently returned in the wake of 
Clem, who closed the door promptly, without com- 


74 


IN HIGH PLACES 


promise with society, and sat unmoved upon his chair 
with his pencil and notebook on his knee. Anyone but 
the woman who had sent for him must have felt under 
obligation to begin dictation at once. She did not. 

“Well?” she asked of the boy. 

“Mr. Henley says he will call this afternoon, unless 
Mr. Drayton telephones him that he will not be in ” 

“Very well.” She waited for him to close the door, 
then began to dictate. 

“ ‘Ido not know what we may expect from* — etc.” — 
thus for an hour, sometimes without any formal prefix 
to the letters, or without any other means of showing 
for whom they were intended. Clem, used to this 
method, “took” without any response outside his ab- 
sorption in his work. His present record was 1 78-and-a- 
fraction words to the minute. It was not a part of the 
young man’s engagement to think. He would have been 
discharged had he shown symptoms of reflection. 

At the end of the work Drayton returned and Clem 
withdrew uncompromisingly, and apparently without 
seeing his employer, or without recognition of any 
presence in the room; simply, he meant to attain 180 as 
against 178-and-a-fraction — that was Clem’s idea of 
Heaven. 

When Drayton sat down at his desk, his secretary 
rose to go to the telephone; but at that moment the door 
opened and the cashier entered. He started to approach 
Drayton who had not taken up any work since his 
re-entrance, but who now assumed an industry which 
made interruption seem objectionable. The cashier 
turned according to habit, to the secretary. She sat 
down again, and the two conferred together for the space 
of three minutes. Shaw frequently consulted a list of 
names on a blue paper, while continually putting the 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING 75 


end of his attenuated whisker into his mouth, and 
snatching it out with a sidewise movement of his dexter 
finger. Presently the woman took the list of signatures 
in her hand, and a blank check which she stopped to fill 
out; then she placed the check before Drayton and a 
pen in his hand, holding the paper with her own hand to 
steady it. 

Drayton signed mechanically, and she withdrew the 
check, putting in its place the paper half filled with 
signatures. 

“Sign there," she said, and indicated the place. He 
signed and she gave the papers to Shaw, who went out 
manipulating his whisker. After that she went to the 
telephone. Her message was: 

“Tell Mr. Henley " — Drayton automatically raised 
his head — “that Mr. Drayton has gone out and will not 
return to-day.' ' Then she hung up the receiver and 
went back to her chair. Drayton half turned and 
his eyes followed her in a not-seeing fashion. Again 
his hand went to his eyes. He sat and did no work, 
and she was conscious of it. Drayton thought: “Her 
voice is deep — and rich — like a cello." 

“If I had the time — " he said aloud, and paused. 
She had laid her pen aside and assumed an attitude of 
attention by turning her face toward him. “If I had 
the time," he re-began, “ I'd go away." Then he ceased 
to speak. She said nothing. After a moment he 
ventured : 

“I — I — haven't the time — I suppose? — " There was 
a wistful note that was feminine in his tone, and he 
didn't know it. 

“No," she said quietly, “Not now. Later, perhaps 
in the fall, after the International matter is completed." 

“Yes," he said. “I haven't the time now. If I 


7 6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


might — ” he paused. He hardly knew what he meant 
to say. His face was full of trouble. She hesitated ; then: 

“I think that your wish with God’s would rhyme. 
— If you had the time,” she said, mechanically echoing 
the verse in Drayton’s mind. 

He leaned forward and stared at her. Her expression 
had not changed. She spoke as she always did: well 
poised, mechanically, and strangely as it sounded, 
to the point. 

4 'How came you to say that?” he asked in a hoarse 
voice. 

"It seemed the obvious thing to say. I read those 
lines somewhere, sometime. It seems to me well that 
you leave the office now for the day. It seems to me 
necessary that you should take time for that.” 

”1 will have a drink — and go out for it,” Drayton 
answered. 

She adjusted her cuff-pin, and had not finished when 
he emerged from the inner room with his coat on. She 
had fingered the pin without once looking at it, and while 
he was in the other room she had sat looking at the open 
door. She could see him donning his coat, and had the 
impulse to assist him ; but she had never offered to serve 
him in the slightest personal way, and now she placed her 
hands firmly upon the arms of her chair. The boy 
entered before Drayton re-entered. 

“Go out,” she said, but Drayton within could tell who 
had entered and withdrawn. As he crossed the floor, he 
paused beside the outer door and looked back at her. 
Suddenly he laughed. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, flushing. His tone and 
manner were overwrought. “What you said just now 
recurred to me. Such a strange place to say it in.” 
He looked at his desk-chair and at the safe and went out. 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING 77 


His secretary wrote without looking up, for ten minutes, 
and the paper bore a comprehensive appearance which 
made the matter thereon more remarkable than it really 
was. She had written: 

“The desk, when in rain came undone to WolfschSn: Olem 
over and above-one hundred and seventy-eight at pres if all and 
coal with the Heyse mine — four hundred close the door— If 
gentle and Yacht better, better, better than everything more 
than afford and all and if ” 

Like that for the space of two pages. 

In the meantime, the boy had come in with a cable- 
gram in cipher which she translated and transcribed 
and placed in the bosom of her gown, and Clem had 
laid some of the day’s letters on her desk for her to visd 
and had withdrawn without looking to the right or to the 
left. Rorke had laid some estimates upon Drayton’s 
desk, had placed a paper-weight upon them gently, 
and had withdrawn: the telephone had rung, she had 
in turn rung her bell for the boy to answer it, and she 
still wrote. 

At two o’clock she rose and remembered that she had 
had no luncheon. She did not mean to have any , she 
only remembered that she had had none. She meant 
to go out and look after some matters for Drayton. 

As she rose, the boy returned. 

“Well?” 

“Mr. Henley ” 

“ Mr. Drayton is out.” 

“He would like to see you.” 

“Show him in. Don’t close the door but once, how- 
ever you close it.” He went out and in his confusion he 
banged it. 

When Henley entered, the secretary was busy. No 


78 


IN HIGH PLACES 


one had ever observed her to smile though she frequently 
exhibited pleasure, and she always responded to what- 
ever business was on hand. If a man to whom she 
spoke were suave, she was direct and courteous; if he 
were halting, she was helpfully brisk and to the point 
without making him feel that he was being absorbed by 
a more alert intelligence than his own. If he met her 
on her own ground, her manner was delightful; at all 
times it was appropriate ; yet an observant person would 
have said that she was of but one mood. 

She rose and welcomed Henley and Henley held out 
his hand, but she was too occupied in directing his 
attention to a seat to see it. Drayton did not like Hen- 
ley ; why, was no business of hers. Drayton did not like 
him and he was as tremendous a factor in the financial 
world as Drayton was — and their interests were not 
identical. Then, too, Henley would make love to her if 
he had a chance. She had known that for more than 
a year. 

“Mr. Drayton will not be in,” she began, trying not 
to listen to Henley's fleshy breathing. Henley was 
heavily built, though perhaps not fat, and he breathed 
noticeably: a thing objectionable to most women and 
to some fastidious men. Henley was unaware of this. 
He was vain and entirely without self-consciousness: a 
most brutal, elemental vanity. He was so assured of 
his dominance and precedence, even when with his 
familiars, who were obviously stronger, that he never 
discussed his personality with himself. If anyone had 
criticised his idiosyncracies, he would have emphasised 
some of the most objectionable of them and remarked 
how it didn't matter a damn: he guessed that little 
Phister, over in the Mills Building, wasn't thinking 
much about the cut of his jib! — the ruin of little Phister, 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING 79 


incident to a new acquisition of fortune by Henley, being 
Henley’s chief obsession at the moment. Yet, by birth 
and breeding Henley should have been a gentleman. 
Everybody realised he was Henley when he was present 
or when they thought of him ; but it was his hard breath- 
ing that most disturbed Jean Merideth, because as a 
matter of fact, she had never regarded him seriously 
enough to dislike him; a woman in Trowbridge Dray- 
ton’s employ could hardly take such a man as Henley 
seriously. He was unpleasant to have about, of course, 
but aside from his breathing, Jean always thought of 
him as a cash register — poke him and the forfeit would 
drop out. She was convinced that if a man were 
Henley’s friend, the man would have to pay a price; if 
one did him a service, then even his benefactor would 
have to pay a price. If one were his wife — oh, what a 
price! Jean never thought of him more than she had to. 

‘‘Mr. Drayton will not be — ” she began. 

“I don’t want to see Drayton,” he laboured, sitting 
heavily. “I want to talk with you.” She signified 
that she was hired by Drayton to listen; she did not 
mention it in so many words, but somehow, Henley 
understood it. 

11 1 want you in my service,” he said. She nodded and 
continued to look at him interrogatively: it was for him 
to speak. Besides, it was against her principles to under- 
stand more than enough. To do so was neither good 
form, nor good business, and she was the epitome of 
both. 

“I have wanted to make a proposition to you for six 
months”; he paused again, but she had nothing to say. 
She was thinking of the way he breathed and wondered 
if nothing could be done for it: — had he ever seen a 
specialist? His fingers were white and fat. 


8o 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Of course, you have been with Drayton’s house for 
several years, but a woman must look for her own best 
interests.” He paused and she nodded. “I am ready 
to offer you ten thousand a year for the same services 
you render to Drayton.” He paused, this time for a 
reply. 

“I am now receiving that amount,” she said, “from 
Mr. Drayton.” 

Henley raised his brows. “Ah?” he replied, a little 
surprised. “I did not know that. I supposed — of 
course, I knew you were a high-priced woman — but I 
did not know just the figure.” 

“That is the figure,” she responded, then waited. 
Henley got up and went to the window. 

“Drayton has choice offices,” he said, his mind pre- 
occupied. Then — “Name your price, please, Miss 
Merideth. I am ready to pay it.” 

“ Ten thousand dollars a year is my price.” 

“You mean, then, that you will not resign.” 

“Not while I am useful here.” 

“You could be more — ” he paused. He began again. 

“ I do not want you for my secretary,” he said slowly, 
and came and stood beside her. She remained seated, 
looking at him with a proper amount of attention. “ I — 
I want you at any price! just you.” He had done it 
finally, after something more than a year. It didn’t 
startle her, but she meant it should not happen again. 
So she said slowly, and still at attention: 

“Is it a proposition of love?” 

“It doesn't surprise you; you know you’re my style 
of woman! ” 

4 *I am not surprised. I only wanted to understand 
precisely the nature of the business. You are making a 
cheap proposition to a ten thousand dollar woman. You 


THE WAY HIGH-LIFE WAS CONDUCTING 81 


see in my position here I only have to work for Mr. 
Drayton/' She regarded Henley gravely. “Now, the 
fifteen-dollar-a-week woman is just across the corridor: 
she takes dictation — directly to the machine/’ she added 
after an almost imperceptible pause. “I’ll ring and 
have the boy show you.” She rang and Henley looked 
at her while she fixed hex pin. He did not speak. He 
himself was such a master hand in life’s affairs thus far, 
that the only thing in all the world which gave him pause 
was that quality with which he now stood face to face: 
hard, shrewd, uncompromising; partly brutal. 

“ By Godl ” he said, involuntarily. “ I do want you! ” 
and at that moment Drayton opened the door. Hen- 
ley’s attitude and the tone were unmistakable, and 
Drayton unconsciously paused and looked at the two. 
His secretary’s face reflected nothing but intelligence of a 
general kind. Henley stepped back and smiled pecu- 
liarly at Drayton, who closed the door behind him and 
said: “Ah, Henley ” 

“ I came in this morning and was sorry you were not 
here,” Henley mentioned, nodded, and went out. Dray- 
ton’s secretary was already sitting and absorbed. He 
took off his coat and looked at her as if he now saw her 
for the first time. He came back from the inner room, 
with astonishment still in his face. He sat, and then 
he got up. 

“Miss Merideth — ” She turned round and they 
looked at each other; and for perhaps the first time 
Drayton saw the glimmer of a genuine, heartfelt smile 
upon her face. After a moment she said: 

“ He made me some very — er — large — propositions. I 
think he means to find out the details of the International 
at any cost.” Then they sat looking steadily into each 
other’s eyes for a moment, when Drayton leaned back 


IN HIGH PLACES 


82 

in his chair and laughed. Jean felt the note of hysteria, 
looked at him a moment then said sharply: 

‘‘Read this cable from Paris. It is half an hour old. 
Baron Erleicher agrees. I have appointed a meeting for 
you at eleven o'clock to-night: Mr. Ailsford has to come 
from Washington after the S. S. meeting there, and that 
puts it late — nearly midnight." She paused a moment. 
Drayton was still trying not to laugh. “You are under- 
standing me, aren't you?" she asked. He nodded. 

“At midnight, down here. I've had Mr. Stebbins’s 
room prepared — spoken to him about it: the directors’ 
room gives on Henley's windows, if you remember. I've 
ordered William on duty, and have notified Wolfschon, 
and have sent a message down to the S. S. offices, and 
have ordered something to eat served to you at mid- 
night." Drayton listened. 

“Now I am going home — unless there is something 
you Want of me. Be careful of that cablegram you have 
in your hand. Good-night — " and she was gone. 

Drayton stared at the cablegram in his hand and 
carefully put it in his pocket. 


CHAPTER V 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 

O N THE evening of that day, Drayton and Wolf- 
schon dined together and alone, at Drayton’s 
club. The conversation was all of the office. 

Between the soup and the fish they talked of the 
chances of Henley possessing himself of any information 
about their immediate enterprise — The International 
Copper Consolidation. 

Between the fish and the entree they had eliminated 
Henley as even a remotely possible factor in their affairs, 
and between the entree and the coffee both men had 
decided upon a course of action that could not be 
matched for splendour and daring. Both men were 
tired before dinner was begun: Drayton exhausted by 
his own superb nervous forces upon which he called and 
called, till one day they should give him warning; the 
Jew, weary with the eternal push of his irresistible body 
of brains against other irresistible bodies of brains in two 
worlds. They left the table to relax themselves with the 
coming of the coffee in the smoke room, but when they 
had got their paraphernalia arranged restfully to their 
liking, they began again upon the never exhausted 
topic of finance; and at eleven o’clock, when they 
started back to the office for the directors’ meeting, they 
were still involved in the matters of the day. 

Rosalie had been in her opera box one hour. For her 
there was not much in the night: she hated the opera and 
only went there because the Van Vorsts’ box was 
. ... ..... . . 83 


84 


IN HIGH PLACES 


opposite, and men frequently came from their box to 
hers, and went from her box to theirs. Gib Henley 
did this: he knew it pleased her. 

“I wish you were going to Cowes next year,” he 
breathed from somewhere behind her. 

“Are you and Ida going?” Rosalie asked, as if seek- 
ing for news. 

“ Yes,” he said, moving his white fat fingers along the 
velvet rail. ‘‘Everybody is going, I guess — the Van 
Vorsts — ” Henley knew Drayton’s wife’s obsession. 
“I think Van and I shall take a villa or a something 
together — Mrs. Van seemed to approve of the idea.” 
He had one eye for the stage and the other, together with 
his sixth sense, for Drayton’s wife. 

“Van!” Rosalie looked at him. She looked at Hen- 
ley’s heavy, pallid face: no mark of breeding about 
him, and wondered how it was. There was Drayton, 
a gentleman of fastidious taste and aspect from the 
cradle up, and yet he was not on such terms as these 
with the Van Vorsts. 

Evidently, breeding had nothing much to do with it. 
It was just being born in their set, she supposed. It 
would have elucidated the Van Vorst-Henley rela- 
tions very much, had she known that Mrs. Van Vorst once 
found it necessary to ask Henley to pay a gambling 
debt. 

“Why, don’t you know the Vans, Rosie?” he asked, 
presently! 

“I — don’t — know. I never thought about it.” Hen- 
ley smoothed his soft upper lip where there was no 
moustache. 

“I suppose Drayton isn’t much of a hand to get you 
in places.” 

Rosalie didn’t move, but she mentally registered the 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 85 


offence — an offence that should never be cancelled till 
Henley should place her at the Van Vorsts’ dinner table. 
At the same moment she thought derisively of Drayton. 
What Henley said was true. She would like to get at 
the Van Vorsts’ independently of Henley, and then 
take it out of him! Maybe she could. There were the 
races at Cowes! The Van Vorsts were retrenching: 
that was plain enough since they proposed to share an 
establishment with the Henley s. At any rate, if Trow- 
bridge was — was Henley’s inferior in a lot of things, he 
could give her an establishment of her own and need n’t 
hesitate about emeralds. Drayton had his uses, doubt- 
less — Yes, certainly! 

“Ida never could have made her own place there, of 
course,” Henley continued. There were circumstances 
under which he was willing to belittle his wife, but he 
almost never underestimated, in public, his mistresses: 
they were the signs and symbols of his taste, and he 
couldn’t afford to; but his wife was one of those pieces 
of furniture that goes without saying, acquired sometime, 
somehow — some men almost forget under what cir- 
cumstances. 

“The fact is, old Van Vorst has interest in nothing but 
finance. The ‘new woman’ is the Van Vorst woman. 
If she can sit and twaddle about stocks and mergers and 
railroads and those things which Van Vorst has on the 
brain, she can sit next him at dinner as often as his wife 
will stand for it.” Rosalie turned to look at Henley. 
She was not astute in any degree. 

“Why, I never dreamed — ” she began. “I thought 
the Van Vorsts were most conservative.” 

“ No! ” said Henley, looking at her in surprise. “ Why, 
you’re ’way off. See here, Rosalie — ” He paused and 
looked hard at her, as if his mind were heavily fraught, 


86 


IN HIGH PLACES 


then he drew his brows together and felt his shaven and 
too soft lip. 

“Well, what?” she asked, scenting something 
profitable. 

“Why — I’ll tell you, Rosalie; you might be no end 
of help to me, do you know?” Her tendrils swayed and 
floated, and she looked again at the stage. 

“Bridge says I’m about the most useless woman he 
knows.” 

“Well — it seems to me if I were a woman I’d show 
Trowbridge Drayton that he was a fool, under those 
circumstances.” Rosalie shrugged her shoulders. 

“ It’s dreadfully hard to show him.” 

“See here, Rose! you qualify to know the Van Vorsts 
and — and I’ll see that you do.” Rosalie’s fingers 
tightened over the rail and Henley’s fat ones softly 
sought hers. She, too, knew that Henley was always a 
man with a price. She was not mental like Jean 
Merideth, but she had instincts, and she too, heard the 
click of the cash register, only she couldn’t see what 
forfeit fell out in front. Rosalie was a completely 
virtuous woman and probably always would be. Hen- 
ley was shrewd wdien not drinking champagne, and the 
slight shrinking of her hand communicated her thought 
to him. He threw back his head and laughed. 

“See here, Rose! If we weren’t a very big man and a 
very fragile woman, I’d slap you on the back.” He prob- 
ably would have done so, Henley was capable of a 
great many unpleasant actions. However, what he 
said reassured her, as he meant that it should. It 
definitely established the good fellowship of their 
relations. 

Meantime Henley was thinking that she was not at 
all his style; that she was “a little red-haired devil, 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 87 


trained and groomed to a finish from the horns down” — 
but not his style. He clothed his thoughts thus. But 
maybe she could be useful to him. Van Vorst, for 
instance, had interests which it would be well for 
Henley to know about. And there of course was his 
thorn in the flesh: Drayton! D., W. & S! who were 
rivalling his own House, and who certainly were 
planning to do large things which Henley had tried thus 
far in vain to learn about. Soon again he spoke: 

“A woman of your dash and get-up could turn Van 
Vorst about her little finger, if only she could get at him. 
If Mrs. Van made a place for you at the table and on the 
coach and on the Grand Stand beside her, where you 
could have old Van more or less at hand, you could be 
useful to me.” 

“I’m willing to do anything that I can for a friend,” 
Rosalie answered, with so demure, yet fruitless, an 
effort at dignity that Henley laughed again. 

“That’s all right,” he said. “But the hitch is you — 
forgive me, Rosie — but as a matter of fact, you’ve got 
more beauty than brains. Of course, when once a wo- 
man has her grip on a man she doesn’t have to do much 
more than look pleasant; but as a fact, old Van Vorst 
is so desiccated in the process of arriving at his aristo- 
cratic condition, that it takes more than good looks to 
hold his attention. Now what could you talk about to 
old Van?” Henley chuckled again and regarded Rosalie 
leniently. 

“I suppose I might get Drayton to give me a business 
course,” said the woman for whom Drayton was giving 
his last drop of blood. 

“See here, that isn’t a bad idea, my dear. It sounds 
absurd, maybe, but it isn’t so absurd as it sounds. All 
you lack is a little conversational capacity. I don’t 


88 


IN HIGH PLACES 


blame you for anything, I blame Ida; she has a hus- 
band who is some sort of good to her ; but if a woman is 
disregarded, put completely outside her husband’s 
business affairs, as you are” — Rosalie looked up — “it 
would be different. As it is, Ida has no excuse for not 
knowing things, for not helping me at a pinch. She 
could do it, with the social prestige I have given her.” 
He waited for his wisdom to penetrate, of course not 
mentioning that he had received his social prestige partly 
in exchange for paying Mrs. Van Vorst’s debts. “A man 
may be a cad to growl about his wife” — Henley was not 
at all sure — “but sometimes I am at my wit’s end.” 
He managed to look as if this were one of those times. 
Rosalie had not interrupted. Now she said: 

“I never care to listen to Trowbridge’s affairs, really.” 
She was thinking. 

“Well, you should. Now that woman he’s got down 
there — ” Rosalie started to turn her head, but did not; 
“that woman he’s got as secretary: a woman like her 
could turn Van Vorst wrong side out.” 

“What about her?” Rosalie was now looking at him. 

“The Merideth woman? Oh, she’s beautiful — high- 
bred as a man could find if he looked with a fine-toothed 
comb. And what she doesn’t know of his affairs, I 
suppose can’t be found out — so they say.” 

“So they say? — why, she’s paid to know.” 

“Paid! Well, yes. I should think she was.” Henley 
laughed disagreeably. “ But she’s worth it.” Henley’s 
eyes darkened at the very thought of her. As he had 
told her, she was “his kind of woman” — which was to 
say, one of his kinds. 

“I never heard of her,” said Rosalie, looking out over 
the house. “Where are Drayton’s offices? The 
telephone is 1550 Broad.” Even Henley was not quite 


I 



44 4 It would n’t be a bad thing for you to know something 
about Drayton’s affairs’” 

















THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 89 


sure that this woman could be just what she was* 
Where were Drayton’s offices? Henley smiled again. 
Rosalie was a very thorough specimen of her own kind, 
even if she wasn’t Henley’s kind. 

“Oh, they’re down in Broad Street,” he answered 
whimsically. “That’s a street downtown, where men 
do things: the kind of things Van Vorst likes to hear 
about.” Henley chuckled again. “I guess you could 
never qualify, Rosie,” he said with a smile. 

“Maybe not,” she answered; “but the next time I 
see you I’ll go over the first lesson with you,” she said 
with an inconsequent air ; and again even Henley could 
not quite read what was in her mind. 

“Honest, Rose, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to 
know something about Drayton’s affairs. It’s useful 
if only so a woman can gauge what a man can stand 
without breaking.” 

Nearly two hours later, as Henley was putting Rosalie 
into her carriage in front of Sherry’s before calling his 
own for Ida Henley, Drayton and Wolfschon were 
emerging from Stebbins’s room, where six men had been 
closeted in conference since midnight. 

Drayton and Wolfschon left the building and walked 
to the Elevated at Hanover Square, and Wolfschon 
discreetly stopped to tie his shoe that Drayton might 
have no dignified excuse for not taking both tickets from 
his own strip. Drayton never stopped for anything, but 
went on. Wolfschon, as well as Drayton, was a very 
rich man, but he couldn’t help certain things. 

They caught a train immediately and got a cross seat, 
and Wolfschon made a forward movement of his head 
and the barn-yard cluck in his throat preliminary to 
saying something serious. 


9 ° 


IN HIGH PLACES 


44 1 guess we’ve got things about right; but if Henley 
effer finds out between now and the gonsummation it 
is all up.” 

44 He can’t find out,” Drayton interjected, with a 
touch of nervous irritation. He lifted up his strong 
shoulders and let them down jerkily two or three times. 
It was a way of his when overstrained and trying to 
shake himself loose from his affairs. 

44 What bothers me are dos galgulations presented by 
Crothers. Dos figures won’t do. I must do something 
with ’em.” 

44 We can’t change the facts of Crothers’s showing. It’s 
all right: the figures prove it. We must face the situa- 
tion, that’s all — and meet it: figures won’t lie.” 

44 It all depends who’s training them. I’m going to 
vorg with ’em all night, and you’ll find efferything 
different in the morning.” 

44 1 don’t want to think about it any more to-night. 
The thing has culminated our way. The International 
is as certain as Christ ” 

44 Well, that doesn’t mean something too certain — with 
me,” Wolfschon let in cautiously, working his head on 
its axis. 

“You have doubts ” 

44 No! I haf no doubts — but I’m going to train dos 
figures of Crothers’s so that efferybody else will haf as 
little doubt as I haf.” 

Drayton laughed shortly. He hardly heard Wolf- 
schon: he had entire confidence in his partner of many 
years, however, and felt that he would do as much 
as he was promising, whatever that was. 

“The International is a fait accompli , and for 
to-night ” 

44 Talking of fait aggombli . at de Rispoli sale yesterday, 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 91 


Repecca bought up the library and a Corot for nothing — 
except what she gave to the auctioneer.’ ’ 

“Mrs. Wolfschon is wonderfully capable,” Drayton 
said, thinking of the dim comfort and warmth of his 
“Box,” and trying to realise that soon he would be 
within. It was very late — past two o’clock now — but 
all the blood of his veins was in his brain, and sleep was 
afar off, even while he was experiencing a strange languor 
and exhaustion and trying to get away from The Inter- 
national. The car wheels incessantly ground out 
Crothers’s figures that Wolfschon was to train, and his 
subconsciousness worked them over and over. It was 
only a detail, but it temporarily annoyed him. 

“What makes you put your hand offer your eyes like 
that, Drayton? I notice you frequently do it. It is 
because you think too much. Think less and vorg more, 
and your eyes won’t bother you.” Drayton turned his 
head and looked at Wolfschon as he delivered himself 
of this hortation; he did not smile. What Wolfschon 
had said sounded like something with a meaning, and he 
was trying hazily to find it. After a moment he exclaimed : 

“ Oh yes.” Then the wheels again took up Crothers’s 
figures. 

“ When this business is fixed, I’m going to get Repecca 
dos emeralds Henley’s wife wanted,” Wolfschon said, 
with a sudden quick gleam of pleasure in his small, 
deeply set eyes: eyes as unemotional as pale- blue mar- 
bles. As one touch of nature makes the whole world 
kin, Drayton turned hL face toward Wolfschon, and 
rested his hand upon the Jew’s knee. The picture of 
Wolfschon’s wife in the emeralds that would have 
adorned the blonde good looks of Henley’s, did not 
occur to Drayton. Wolfschon’s purpose alone had place 
in his mind. 


92 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Rebecca Wolfsch6n was probably worth a million and 
a half of money as she stood arrayed in the jewels she now 
possessed, and few knew it. She wore them mostly 
when she went to market, or when Wolfsch6n brought a 
man home to dinner, or when she went to art auctions. 
Rebecca Wolfsch6n seldom left her house after dinner 
unless for an opera: she and Wolfschon knew good art 
from indifferent art, unlike Americans of similar estate: 
they were Jews, and that taste and knowledge were 
their heritage. 

There were eight little Wolfschdns, and two half-sizes; 
and after dinner Rebecca Wolfsch5n made a business of 
tucking each in its bed. And when Wolfschftn got home 
that night, she was pretty certain to have ready for him 
something that he liked to eat, something she had 
arranged for him herself — because the Wolfsch6ns 
combined humanity with riches, and sometimes the 
butler was permitted to go to bed like his betters. 
Later, she was like as not to help Wolfsch6n train 
Crothers's figures; Rebecca Wolfschdn was a good 
wife. 

And suddenly, from this picture, Drayton fell to think- 
ing upon his own masterpiece. His personal affairs 
were of late beginning to crowd upon his mind at un- 
seemly times. To-night — in Stebbins's room, for 
instance, when Crothers had been discussing transfers — 
the scene of the night before in Rosalie's dressing-room 
had recurred to him ; and he had momentarily lost the 
office connection. 

Involuntarily he had begun to enter upon personal 
calculations. He was totting up what would be needed 
to carry Rosalie through the Cowes campaign. She 
was probably correct in saying that she would have the 
Kaiser to luncheon: all of royalty that was not afraid of 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 93 


dynamite was to be there. She would pick out the King 
she wanted: she had done as exceptional things. Dray- 
ton wondered why she wanted the Kaiser to luncheon. 
But then, Drayton was very literal in his reflections, and 
it only occurred to him that the Kaiser could not be a 
very interesting person to lunch with: he would not per- 
mit himself to talk politics with Rosalie — Drayton 
smiled. He would not be minded to discuss finance with 
Rosalie — Drayton smiled again. And as a man, just a 
man, he could not be especially interesting to anyone. 
Drayton thought he talked too much. Wolfschon’s 
advice seemed to apply to the Kaiser: if he thought less 
and worked, etc. ; and about that time Drayton and his 
partner arrived at Seventy-second Street. Both men 
got out there and both walked west; but Wolfsch6n 
arrived at home just before reaching the Avenue, while 
Drayton kept on and had to turn the comer. When 
Drayton and Wolfschon were saying good-night, Rebecca 
Wolfschon opened the door, and called: 

“Maxie got der medal for mathematics, Louis!” 
Wolfsch6n hastened his good-night, and went up 
the steps saying in a satisfied tone: 

* 4 Well, well! I knew it!” and the pair disappeared 
within. 

Suddenly Drayton’s feet felt heavier to him, and he 
jerked his shoulders more than once to rid them of the 
weight that bowed them, and which seemed to be mak- 
ing him stumble. But the weight was of the soul, though 
his shoulders seemed to carry it. He would tell Bemie 
when he got in to mix something, and to put it beside 
him in the Box, and then to go to bed: then Drayton 
could feel quite alone — and he wanted to be alone, since 
the only one in the world whom he would have had for 
companion was doubtless already asleep or else not in 


94 


IN HIGH PLACES 


the house. Rosalie at home was always curled up with 
her leaves folded, the indifferent Persian just under her 
arm, its head on her bosom, while she sipped chocolate as 
if it were dew; or else she was in full pomp and panoply 
of bloom, ready to flower upon the sight of any one who 
was not Drayton, 

The wind was blowing, and Drayton jammed his hat 
down against it as he turned the comer into the Avenue. 
As he came in sight of the house, Rosalie’s carriage was 
just drawing up to the curb. At first he could not pull 
himself together enough to care, save perfunctorily. A 
fearful exhaustion was upon him: the greater since the 
momentary scene before Wolfschon’s house. He was so 
tired, that twice that day he thought he would have 
stopped to rest — if he had the time. 

As Drayton drew near, he saw the man get down from 
the box and open the carriage door, and then Rosalie 
emerged. For a moment she stood bathed in the light 
that fell from the electric lamps that ornamented Dray- 
ton’s marble steps; then his shoulders straightened and 
his limbs lost their heaviness. He reached her in a 
stride. She was most beautiful. 

It was morning, but she looked most lovely when 
fatigued. She stood there in the night wind, her stream- 
ers and laces tattering about her: rosy beckonings to 
one who loved the beautiful. Drayton loved it, loved 
it, loved it. When he reached her, she put out her arms 
and clutched him, and said breathlessly: 

“It’s an awful wind, isn’t it, Bridge? I hung on to 
Humphries when I left the carriage, and I hung on to 
the lamp post, and I hung on to the iron griffin, and now 
you’ll have to carry me up the stairs, I’m so tired.” 
And so Drayton carried the weary bundle of lovely 
thread and patches up the steps, and felt that it was his 


Hx 



“Drayton felt himself especially favoured of God” 


















THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 95 


compensation for merging the East and the West and 
bringing into being the great International. 

Men are very infrequently seen on the Avenue carrying 
their wives indoors at two o'clock in the morning, and 
Drayton felt himself especially favoured of God. 

Inside the hall he kissed her, and she hadn't anything 
to say against it. He never saw Rosalie except in an 
hour like this, when she had no other place to go, and 
when he had no other work to do for her. 

“I like the wind," she said, laughing and trying to 
assemble her flying hair — “I like it when I don't feel it. 
I always like to shop on rainy days, because it’s so com- 
fortable and cosy inside, and Humphries and Fleming 
look so streaked outside in the rain." And she rippled 
again. They were going up to the third floor and Dray- 
ton placed his arm across her slight shoulders, saying 
gently: 

'‘Nonsense! That is only the Naughty in you! Didn't 
you make a lot of red flannel things, and yourself insist 
on looking up some poor creature to give them to? You 
do not like suffering." 

“No! But 1 did the flannels to see what it was like." 
And by then they had reached the third floor. Rosalie's 
apartments were at one side of the house and Drayton’s 
at the other. When they stepped out of the elevator, he 
said: 

“ Where shall we go, to your rooms or mine, Rosalie?" 

“Oh dear!" she said, “at two o'clock in the morning, 
Trowbridge?” 

“Yes, we have spoken together later than this — when 
we have had need to discuss the menu for the Kaiser's 
luncheon, for instance. " He smiled and Rosalie laughed. 
“ I want to talk with you — wife." 

Rosalie stopped in the corridor and turned to look at 


q6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Drayton. He halted beside her. “Wife!” The word 
was strange to him ; strange to his thought as well as to 
his speech. Rosalie was so surprised by it that she for- 
got her life purpose: the Van Vorsts’ list. 

44 Why,” she faltered — 41 how queer that sounds/* 

“Doesn’t it? and how sad that is.” Drayton took 
her arm while still smiling down at her; and she per- 
mitted herself to be ushered by him into her apartments. 
The cat was in the best chair. “Don’t — don’t dis- 
turb the cat,” she said imploringly. 44 I’ll sit some place 
else,’’ and she looked helplessly at another chair. She 
heard Fifine dismissed by Drayton, and saw him draw 
a chair before the fire. She suffered him to place her 
therein, and to place himself beside her, all without a 
murmur or thought of objection, or of the lateness of the 
hour: it seemed so portentous, so extraordinary — this 
action quite independent of her desire. 

44 Why, Trowbridge!” 

44 And now we’ll talk about the Kaiser’s luncheon. 
Shall I take off your shoes?” She obediently put her 
foot on Drayton’s knee, and he gravely took off her 
carriage boots of fur, and then her slippers. Then he 
looked about the room. 

“Where are the other queer little things you wear, 
after these are off?” 

44 1 don’t know,” she said. 44 No matter: it is all so 
dreadful. I’d as soon sit like this.” And so she put 
her feet on the polished fender and looked down at her 
rose-coloured stockings. 

4 4 Are you comfortable?” 

44 1 — I — don’t know. I — I’d feel better to hold the 
cat — only it would be cruel to disturb him. I don’t 
feel as if I should ever be comfortable any more,” she 
said, looking down at herself and then into Drayton’s 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 97 


face. Her expression was so pathetic and distracted 
that Drayton was forced to smile again. 

“ Shall I get you something different, and help you 

to put it on?” 

“No, no. It isn't the clothes, I guess. Go on, for 
Heaven's sake, Trowbridge!” 

“Bridge.” 

“Bridge,” she said obediently. 

“You feel that you may as well die for an old sheep as 
a lamb, don’t you, Rosie?” 

“Oh,” she shuddered. “Not as if I were that dread- 
ful Wolfschdn's wife. ‘R-r-rosie.’ ‘R-r-r-ebecca,’ ” and 
she rolled the r’s plaintively. 

“You are not a bit like Wolfschon's wife,” he said, 
and he thought upon the fact from all sides: only one 
side was apparent to Rosalie, and she was not interested 
in any other. 

“Rosalie, do you remember the summer before you 
and I were married?” 

“Yes,” she said — “we were in France, visiting the 
de Moisens. I wonder why she married a foreigner ?— I 
thought you so handsome in white flannels and that 
queer little cap. I remember.” 

“We have never been away together from that time 
till now, except the time we were married: on the 
twenty-third, because I had to be there on the first, in 
the interest of business.” 

“Why, you haven't the time!” 

“I wonder why.” He paused and looked at her. 
She looked down. 

“I'm sure I don’t know,” she murmured. 

“I should love to take the time, Rosalie. I wonder 
what it would be like if you and I — just you and I — were 
to go away somewhere together and spend, say a 


9 8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


thousand dollars a month for a simple, decent living: 
not give the Kaiser any luncheon ; some place where we 
could know honest, healthful pleasures all day and every 
day. And when night came I would not be down in Steb- 
bins’sroom with every nerve a-quiver while I listened to 
estimates and calculated percentages; and you would 
not be tired like this; too tired to say you cared for me. 
Rosalie, I do not remember that you have told me that 
in years. You would not be thinking then of new 
gowns, and the Kaiser’s luncheon, and the Van Vorsts, 
and Cowes, and yachts and — life would be full of some- 
thing really good — mutual devotion — the tender little 
things. 

“Life would hold some of the simple pictures that are 
good for men and women to look back upon; and it 
seems to me — that a lot of little children about — Wolf- 
schon’s got ten” — Drayton hurried— “ might bring a 
man and woman something to live up to, and to repeat 
one’s best self in. I had rather you gave luncheon to me 
than the Kaiser — out under the trees somewhere — near 
a fishing pool, maybe, eh? And in the mornings what 
glories could be ours! I’ve not got out of bed feeling 
refreshed and alert for years. It’s only the tonicity of 
a business atmosphere that brings to me apparent 
energy and alertness: the stimulation of ‘downtown.’ 
But if we had only a thousand a month, and had to fish 
for it and I had you , maybe we’d be new — new clear 
through; and, oh my God, Rosalie! I’d be so tender, 
and try to let you miss nothing; and we’d do the things 
that make men’s souls better. There are good things 
to be done for others — things that add to one’s own 
happiness for the doing; but best of all — there’s you. 
You whom I want for myself! I will live every hour 
of my day and every day of my life for you. I will 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 99 


anticipate every wish. Let us stop now, Rosalie — and 
let us go.” 

In his great earnestness Drayton was no longer master 
of himself; and as he rose, she too stood up. Then 
after a silence she sank down again and stared at him. 
He walked across the floor and back to her. 

"Well?” he asked under his breath. 

"Twelve thousand a year ? ” she asked, dazedly. 

"Millions of people are happy, supremely happy on 
so much less than that, that the terms would frighten 
you. What amount would make you happy then ? ” 

"I don’t know,” she said tremulously. "Every- 
thing — this.” And she glanced about the room. 

"Would n’t the life I have spoken of mean anything 
to you?” 

"Yes, yes it would.” She stopped short. "It would 
be — horrible,” she cried, and dropped her face in her 
hands, sobbing hysterically. Drayton only stared at 
her. His heart was leaden, and he felt the weight once 
more upon his shoulders, and they began to stoop as he 
stood beside her. 

"Do you love me?” Drayton said, after a moment, 
during which she sobbed. 

"Why, I’m married to you.” 

"And you mean that it follows that you love me — 
or that you don’t?” 

"It follows that it is absurd for married people to ask 
such questions of each other.” 

" Humph! ” said he, and walked across the floor again. 

"Is there anything I can do, that I do not now do, 
that would induce you to care for ine?” 

"I do care for you. What do you mean? 

" Nothing, if you do care for me. If you do, then why 
does my companionship hold no inducements for you?” 


IOO 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“I do care to be with you; but what time have you? 
Aren’t you always busy, aren’t you always out of the 
house? ” 

“I needn’t be. If you’re willing to live somewhat 
differently, as I should like to live, with plenty and not 
too much, I need never be away from you.” 

“But we haven’t more than enough to get along on 
now.” 

Drayton smiled bitterly. The grotesquery of it 
appealed to him in spite of himself. 

“You talk about loving me; what do you ever do for 
me?” Drayton stood aghast. “When I think of the 
devotion to their wives of the men I know, and recall 
how utterly neglected I am, I want to kill myself.” 
Drayton listened as if in a dream. 

“ Well? ” he said, with a vague curiosity to know what 
other and more model men did for their wives. 

“A day never passes that Gib Henley does not send 
his wife flowers! not a day!” She paused, trying to 
think. Drayton took a receipted bill from his pocket 
and laid it in her lap without comment. It was a florist’s 
bill for twenty-two hundred dollars covering her three 
months’ custom; Rosalie had given a dinner or two 
during the interim. 

“You anticipate me,” said Drayton. She pushed the 
bill to the floor. 

“What does that matter: things I ordered myself! 
It is the thought, the pains taken to — to — ” She rose, 
gently displacing the cat, then threw herself upon the 
couch, crumpled and heart-broken; she noticed, too, 
that the cat needed doing up again. 

“I could not dream that flowers from anybody 
would mean anything to you under the circumstances. 
From my point of view, a weed might have some 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN ioi 


distinction to one who slept on rose leaves, but a super- 
abundance of anything is likely to lessen the thing’s 
value. I did not know that you wanted me to bring to 
you flowers. Ill bring them.” There was no enthu- 
siasm in Drayton’s voice. That were impossible and 
absurd. He would simply leave her no excuse for 
repulsing him always. 

“No matter about the flowers,” she said under her 
breath, so that he just heard her. “There is that which 
you might do for me ; that which would not need to be 
done did you love me; had you ever loved me.” 
Drayton listened attentively and studied her face. 
There was no mistaking her earnestness. Whatever 
it was, it was vital to her. 

“ If there is any gauge of my love ” 

“The woman who is your secretary.” Silence, dead 
silence fell upon them: furtively regarding the cat 
she determined to send it down to Christopher in the 
morning. 

“Jean Merideth?” said Drayton, seating himself 
carefully in a chair, somewhat as Rorke moved things 
about at the office. 

“Jean Merideth?” he repeated. 

“If that is the woman’s name — Jean Merideth!” 
Rosalie’s bright, reddish hair seemed to flame about her 
head under the light of the rose lamp, and she sat upon 
the couch, her face tear-stained, her hands clasped so 
tightly that the knuckles had grown white — like a rose 
in a storm she was. 

“ Do you mean that you are jealous of Jean Merideth?” 
Drayton began to think that perhaps he was too tired 
for things to penetrate his understanding. 

“I mean that I hate her,” she said. Drayton drew a 
long breath. On the instant occurred to him what the 


102 


IN HIGH PLACES 


loss of Jean Merideth would mean in his affairs: burden 
piled on burden, the routine of years interrupted, a cog 
in the mechanism of his business life that could never 
be replaced! She was more than a woman of wonderful 
abilities: she was temperamental, and added to her 
keenness of intellect, instinct, which almost made her a 
part of Drayton’s being. All these things rushed before 
his mental vision while he glanced at the fire, and back 
again at Rosalie. Then: 

“Thank God! ” he said, dropping his face in his hands 
and resting thus a moment. Rosalie stole a glance in 
his direction and did not speak. Presently, as he did 
not move, she said: 

“Well? ” 

“Jean goes,” he answered, lifting his face from his 
hands; and the woman on the divan saw Drayton 
glorified for an instant, and she was amazed. He rose 
and came to her. 

“I — I did not dream of this,” he said simply. “I 
am so nearly happy that I can think of nothing to say. 
I did not dream that you cared — about anything that 
related to — me. She is almost invaluable to me; I 
shall never get home now;” he smiled a little whimsi- 
cally — “and I’m glad her loss means so much to me, 
the return is so very great.” Before he could put forth 
his arms, Rosalie had thrown herself into them. 

“Oh, Bridge,” she sobbed. “I’ve been so wretched, 
so wretched for years.” Drayton listened, unable to 
cover his amazement. “I would not speak, knowing 
what a sacrifice it would be to you to send her away. 
The horrible part was that I thought it would be a 
different sort of sacrifice. She is so beautiful ” 

“Why, no — ” he began. Revelations were falling 
so thick and fast that he had become confused. Jean 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 103 


Merideth beautiful? so too, the Germans had said! 
Maybe, after all, she was. He had not thought 
about it. 

“She is beautiful,” Rosalie insisted, resting her head 
against him. “All of these years I’ve suffered so.” 
Drayton was respiring jerkily, and he put his hand over 
his eyes. Rosalie drew it down and laid her cheek 
against it. “ But I knew what she meant to you. You 
never believed enough in me to speak of your affairs — ” 
Drayton was going under. “I who am the one who 
should be a help to you ” 

“ But — but — not in such things — you could not 
understand — ” He was submerged. 

“I know, I know,” she wailed. “I’m not intelli- 
gent — like that woman — but I might have learned 
to be. I suppose it was because you never trusted me. 
Because 99 

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say such things. It is 
humiliating — to you. I would trust you with anything, 
under any circumstances; but I couldn’t annoy you with 
matters of finance. Why ” 

Drayton was becoming mentally reduced to such an 
extent that he was losing his ability properly to put 
English together. 

“Well, now the horror is all over, it will be better, 
won’t it, Bridge? — I am to know and maybe help as 
that woman did? I am , Bridge? Why, to have gone 
away with you, as you said, knowing that woman to 
have my place ’’ 

“ But how could she have your place — I with you, and 
she in my office?’’ Drayton was trying to separate the 
wheat from the chaff, but since it was all chaff and he 
had nothing with which to draw comparisons he was men- 
tally wandering: anyway, Rosalie’s love was a certainty, 


104 


IN HIGH PLACES 


and that was about all he had anything to do with 
to-night. He had Rosalie at last! that was enough. 

“I might have been beside you, but she would have 
been in your heart, wherever she was. I should always 
have felt it was so,” she hurried, as Drayton started to 
make a protest. 

“How could I have been happy, ever thinking like 
that? But now — ” she said with a joyous note — “now 
we can work together. Now I can be beside you all of 
the time; and we won’t have to go away for it — in 
poverty!” 

She laughed so tinklingly and so joyfully, and rose so 
on the wings of the spirit, that Drayton wondered he 
had ever thought of such madness as leaving his affairs 
and becoming a poor lonely outcast. The trouble was, 
he was entirely satisfied with any condition that 
included the woman, and that promised to make of her 
a part of his existence. 

“You will tell me things every day, and I will learn to 
understand them, and I can take so much from your 
mind — and you’ll know I’m happy now.” She reached 
round to Drayton’s coat-tail pocket for his handker- 
chief, and finding it, wiped the dew-drops that had been 
glistening through her smiles. Drayton’s translation 
was complete. 

“Yes, yes,” he said, and “Yes” again, tremblingly 
smoothing her bright hair — “ and if we had — boys and 
girls about, Rosalie.” 

Rosalie smiled mistily again. “Anything might 
happen — now” she said, and Drayton lost his identity 

“ I can begin to help you now? I want to feel that I 
am doing something that she does for you — and she is to 
go in the morning?” He looked at her, and then 
nodded his head. He was acting automatically. 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 105 


‘‘We must begin now — this minute. I must begin to 
help. I’ll look after all those details about the new 
yacht ” 

“Miss Merideth has nothing to do with such things, 
sweetheart ’ ’ 

“Oh, I thought she did,” and her face took on a 
grieved look. “ Somebody is — is seeing to it?” 
wistfully. 

“Oh, Rorke has that in train — days ago — yesterday.” 
Rosalie turned her head to adjust her pink-stockinged 
feet that were seemingly too near the fire: — she dared 
not look directly at Drayton just then: she had tri- 
umphed all the way down the line. 

“Ah,” she said. “Then there is no need for me to 
help there. But there must be something; tell me 
something; I must feel that I am a part of things in 
your daily life, now that you are going to send that 
woman who has broken my heart, away.” 

It is not the man who can best interpret the effects 
of war and finance, who can best interpret women. 

“Yes,” he said. “We will keep close together now; 
whatever is necessary to make that possible, shall be. 
Rosalie, it seemed to me when I entered this room 
to-night that I could no longer support life as it was; 
and now — ” He clasped her in his arms. He felt the 
familiar flutter, but did not open his arms as was his 
wont. A shadow fell upon his face again. 

“ Please don’t, Bridge,” she pleaded. “ Please don’t.” 
Drayton did not move nor release her. 

“Since you love me, Rosalie, are you entirely unre- 
sponsive? going to be so always?” 

“Bridge!” she cried, and the amazement and hurt 
in her voice impelled him to release her, if just to look 
in her face and see what had happened. 


io6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“No response? Perhaps, with the loss of Jean Meri- 
deth, you have lost your memory.” There was a little 
catch in her voice. All that her tone implied was 
true, and Drayton nodded. 

“I remember it all. I was wrong; but I do not 
understand you. It is true that you are not unre- 
sponsive.” Drayton had not made the distinction 
between response and aggression. She had always been 
aggressive in those softer moments. “I was wrong! I 
simply do not understand you.” 

“Then leave me to myself to-night. I want to be 
alone. I don’t want any touch of the material to dim 
the joy of this night. Maybe you cannot understand, 
Bridge. If you can’t, then it is because you are a man. 
I’ve been wretched for ten years thinking of that woman. 
To-night I know that you love me. I want to be alone 
to think it over, to realise it as it is: that whatever she 
might have been, I am a necessity of your soul.” Dray- 
ton kissed her on the forehead and closed the door 
behind him. 

Rosalie went to the door of the antechamber and 
said to Fifine: “Get up and undress me; don’t you 
forget to take the cat down to that Dutchman in Hous- 
ton Street, to-morrow — and I want a drink of whiskey.” 
Fifine got up and undressed her: she had lately begun 
to tipple in a small, indefinite sort of way. To-night 
she was pretty well tired out. 

“Put the cat on the bed” she said, “and be careful 
of him.” 

Drayton took the elevator down one story to his Box. 
He had suddenly become too tired to walk down a 
flight of stairs. He said to the footman who was hand- 
ling the elevator: 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 107 


“I should like Bernie to come to me.” And the foot- 
man, who had been in the English army, made a spas- 
modic, quickly suppressed movement with his hand 
which ended abortively on the way to a salute, in a con- 
ventional pull at the bottom of his waistcoat. This 
was a military acquirement which reduced his value 
about ten per cent. Gentlemen and gentlemen had 
engaged him for the picture, being impressed with the 
magnificence of his bearing, and the symmetry of his 
legs, only to be distracted by the continual surprise of 
receiving a military salute at most exceptional moments 
— such as when he announced the Bishop, and then had 
stood inspiringly at attention; or had borne the ap- 
pearance of being about to present arms, or shoulder 
arms, or take aim and fire. The involuntary salute 
necessarily prepared the mind for almost any warlike 
demonstration — but the calves of his legs were 
unexceptionable. 

Drayton went to the end of the hall and closed the 
door of his own place behind him. Then he sat down 
and leaned his head in his hands, his elbows resting on 
the table. Bernie did not knock: always when sum- 
moned by Drayton, he entered without the formality, 
and only knocked when going unsummoned into Dray- 
ton’s presence. He paused a moment, swept the room 
with his comprehensive eye, absorbed Drayton’s atti- 
tude, which did not change, and withdrew. Presently 
he returned with a tray and something “mixed.” 

“Brandy?” 

“Your head was down, sir.” 

Drayton nodded When his head was up, Bernie 
brought sherry and angostura. He produced a pair 
of slippers from his coat-tail pocket, and had thrown 
Drayton’s jacket over the back of a chair; and after 


IN HIGH PLACES 


108 

depositing the tray on the table, he placed the slippers 
at Drayton’s feet and stood at attention with the jacket. 
Drayton made a change, and Bernie took away what he 
had put off. Then he reversed a lamp-shade, which 
was one-half russet, one-half red, so that the glowing 
side was darkened, and Drayton only received tempered 
rays. After that the man glanced about once more and with- 
drew, taking no pains to be excessively quiet, nor could 
he in the nature of his training be at any time obtrusive. 
As the door closed Drayton turned and called: 

“ Bernie. ” The man reentered and closed the door. 
“ Thank you,” said Drayton. 

“Yes, Mr. Drayton,” he answered. Bernie had a 
pleasant face. He went out. Drayton looked for some 
time at the door. How he longed to put his arm across 
Bernie’s shoulder: Drayton was lonesome. 

As he sat there alone, in the silence of the great house, 
his dominant thought was that he was not to go away 
alone, with Rosalie ; yet he was comforted by the recollec- 
tion that he was to have compensations. He was sat- 
isfied that they were closer together than before in ten 
years. It seemed that Miss Merideth had kept them 
apart. 

“I’m glad to have her go,” he thought: “it seems to 
open the way to the only happiness I have yet known.” 
But the paralysis of energy that had come upon him 
since he knew he was to be left at the office without her 
was temporarily distracting him. 

“She is my right hand,” he thought, “my supple- 
mentary brain. She knows what I do not know about 
my affairs. If I did not have her mind to contain that 
which is in excess of my capacity, I feel that I should 
be lost. This is not true, however,” he added; “there is 
only one of her, and I am the only man who has her, 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 109 


while I am by no means the only man who has need of 
such a help.” 

He was trying to think what it would be like down in 
the city, when he should enter the room of mornings and 
not find her there. He must look for someone else — 
a man, he supposed. 

“What I need is a brain unmodified by the sex prob- 
lem. This matter of sex seems to present so much more 
of a problem to women than to men ; doubtless because 
they are the problem. To a man it is a fairly open and 
shut thing! A woman has brains or she has not; and, 
like a man, she is or is not suited to one's service. Some- 
thing will go wrong, when she has gone,” he reflected; 
“ I suppose she will be more or less glad of a vacation and 
then a change. That is not true ! ” he said aloud, briskly 
and as if defying challenge. “I am a fool! I do not 
believe she will welcome the change. She must be a 
fairly well-off woman by now; at least, in no immediate 
need of her salary.” 

She had cleared up some money in the U. P. deal on 
her own judgment, Drayton knew, and that was not 
more than six months ago. 

“I wonder whose service she will enter,” he mused. 
“Henley's?” Drayton put his hands over his eyes for a 
moment, then laughed as he recalled Wolfschon's 
advice: to think less and work more, or to work more 
and think less, whichever it was. She wouldn't belong 
to Henley's office; Drayton knew that, too. 

“I hope she will not become anyone's secretary,” he 
reflected, leaning forward with a frown. “I hope she 
will never work again. I hope — ” It was nothing to 
him, after all, what she did. He hadn’t given the 
woman a thought before in ten years, except to think 
that she was more indispensable than his right hand. 


iio 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“I am going to dinner at the Wolfschon's,” he prom- 
ised himself whimsically. It only that moment occurred 
to him that he had never been there to dine. He had 
often been there, but generally at a library conference. 
He would go to the Wolfschdns' to-morrow night. 
Drayton thought Wolfschon's wife would be at home if 
he was not. Then it occurred to him to find if Rosalie 
was to be at home. It dawned upon him clearly for the 
first time that all was to be different and that he actually 
was to have something of his wife. 

“Thank God things promise better for me,” he said. 
“If money can add to her happiness, she shall have no 
wish unfulfilled after the copper deal is completed. I 
wonder where she got that about Henley's affaire with 
that dancer. A thing like that knocks me cold. Wo- 
men have no business to know such things. I wonder 
where they hear them. Only men discuss such 
matters — some men — and they not often. Some wo- 
man's husband is vulgar enough to tell his wife and she 
tells some other woman. At any rate, they seem to 
find out things that are not fit to print.” 

To Drayton, times seemed out of joint. He didn't 
believe his mother ever knew such things. 

He felt that Rosalie's campaign would take every cent 
he could command, with the International on. 

“If anything went wrong there — if anything could 
slip there! It's the devil to think where it would leave 
me: I've tied up everything I can get hold of until the 
copper deal is completed. It'll clean me up fifteen 
millions if a cent. I wonder how Wolf is managing to 
train Crothers's figures about now,” he smiled. He w r as 
exceedingly fond of Wolfschon. “I'll go there to- 
morrow to dinner unless Rosalie is going to be home; 
and I shouldn't wonder if she was,” he thought gladly. 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN hi 


What puzzled Drayton most of all was Rosalie's 
attitude toward what she called “society.” It was 
hardly what Drayton called society; but then, maybe 
he was wrong. He didn’t believe he was. To him, 
Rosalie was a sensible woman; not profound, perhaps, 
but bright and good and substantial; and he didn’t 
understand how she could even find the thing she called 
society an interesting plaything. He felt that she had 
more moral force than other women; than he, perhaps: 
had she not suffered for ten years because of Jean Meri- 
deth ? And because she knew the value of the woman to 
him in his business, she had sacrificed herself uncomplain- 
ingly. Drayton felt that he could not have done that. 
When he thought of what torment it would be to have 
cause for jealousy on Rosalie’s account, she seemed to 
him heroic. 

“A woman who is capable of that self-control is a 
woman of substance. I think I never realised all that 
she was, before to-night. 

“O, Rosalie! Life will be new again — ” then it came 
upon him like a nightmare — Jean Merideth must go! 

Another hiatus in his thought-process. Then he 
Wandered back to the social problem again. Society! — 
society is all right, it was her careless classification that 
was wrong. Rosalie assumed that a little handful of 
enormously rich people constituted society. The Van 
Vorsts were all right: Van Vorst was undeservingly 
classified with the rich. He might better be classed with 
people of refined, useful instincts. Drayton knew Van 
Vorst to be a high-bred, sensible man, with whom it 
was pleasant to be; but the three generations that are 
necessary to obtain entree to the Van Vorst house often 
brought about the family some queer birds. There was 
Henley, with his three generations, for example. 


1 1 2 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Drayton had talked last week with the man who 
cleaned his furnaces. It was a cold morning, and it 
felt good and brisk to handle the shovel, and the man 
had let Drayton do it. While he worked, they talked. 
Drayton learned that his furnace man had three genera- 
tions. He had a set of great grandparents, grandparents 
and a father and mother. The first pair were cotters in 
County Mayo, the second got as near to civilisation as 
Wicklow. 

The furnace man had the habit of self-improvement, 
bom of the instinct of self-improvement that had been in 
his family for three generations, and so he had come to 
America and engaged to clean Drayton’s furnaces. The 
amount of good sense and nice feeling that belonged to 
that man would shame some of Rosalie’s “society” to 
death, if ‘'society ” were capable of discrimination — so 
Drayton thought. 

It is a delight to have three genial, well-fed, well- 
housed, well-adjusted generations behind a man: in the 
natural sequence, the last generation would represent a 
great deal of excellence; but as a matter of fact, birth 
and breeding frequently skip a generation, and while such 
mischance should make a difference in a man’s relation 
to humanity, it does not seem to. The precedent of 
environment and the traditions of refinement and useful- 
ness and the fact of his money, make it almost impossi- 
ble for a well-bom blackguard to find his level! (Henley 
again, for instance.) He may do his unintentional best 
to reach it, but he is not permitted to. He is made to 
float on the traditions of his race, while his departure 
from the best traditions of his family should sink him. 

Truly it is as easy for a worthless man with estab- 
lished family traditions to pass through the eye of the 
social needle, as for Dives to buy quarterings — and 


THE WAY OF A WIFE WITH A MAN 113 


nothing is easier than that, except to apply blotting 
paper to the ’scutcheon. 

Van Vorst and Drayton often had delightful hours 
together talking nothing. Down there at the Island 
he recalled famous moments. Van Vorst was tem- 
peramental, somewhat fastidious: why Rosalie en- 
countered such difficulties in going there to dinner, Dray- 
ton could not imagine. There was something about it 
all quite outside man’s comprehension. Van Vorst 
and he, more often than not, dropped down at the same 
table at the Club. And when Drayton had mentioned 
it to Rosalie and questioned her, she was quite scornful. 
He smiled now to think of it. She replied that men 
were crazy. She gave him to understand that however 
it might be between Van Vorst and him, it was Mrs. 
Van Vorst who decided who should be on the Van Vorst 
list. It seemed to him a complicated arrangement: 
Rosalie’s affairs. Dear, foolish, heroic little Rosalie! 
Well, if feeding the Kaiser would enable Rosalie to enter 
in, Drayton would have to feed him. 

“I do not know precisely how she expects to secure 
the Kaiser for her guest, since she cannot obtain the Van 
Vorsts,” he meditated. 

“ It seems she must give the Kaiser luncheon in order 
to become acceptable to Mrs. Van Vorst: the Van 
Vorsts have frequently entertained royalty. She ex- 
pects to find the Kaiser considerably less exacting than 
the Van Vorsts.” There was something irresistibly 
funny about this proposition to him. It seemed to be 
something less serious than club politics, and something 
more serious than one’s immortal soul. 

“Lord help me to a better understanding, and an 
appreciation of the gravity of the situation, for Rosalie’s 
dear sake! 


IN HIGH PLACES 


114 


“ Let her have her Kaiser, and even get a letter from 
him commending her to all good Americans: I’ll pay for 
it — with copper.” Then suddenly his thought jumped: 

“To-morrow, Jean Merideth.” It was as if Fate were 
throttling him. And why? “There are hundreds of 
other brains to be had” — he tried to think; “I must 
sleep! ” 


CHAPTER VI 


HOW HIGH-LIFE MEETS ITS SACRIFICIAL OBLIGATIONS 

D RAYTON stared at the ceiling for half an hour 
before rising the next morning. It was not his 
habit, thus to put off the breaking of his day. Bemie 
moved about the room doing necessary things while 
Drayton lazily watched him. He half wondered if 
the sun had risen in the west that day; at any rate, the 
time seemed to him to be out of gear. He did not 
define the reason for it all; his sub-consciousness was 
busy with the facts, but Drayton kept the cause in the 
sub-cellar of his mind, and compelled himself to think 
of the future with Rosalie. All was to be changed now: 
he had found Rosalie again; she had always been his, 
after all. He had unconsciously shut himself outside 
her life because he had — but now he also shut the secre- 
tary in the sub-cellar, and rose. 

Drayton did not like too much personal service, and 
Bernie made no mistakes: he did as little about Drayton 
as was consistent with his profession. His was an 
extremely difficult service, and only a personal interest 
in Drayton’s comfort enabled a man to serve him 
successfully; it was largely a matter of tact and intui- 
tion. Bernie would have served Drayton for a fourth 
less his wage, and he never assumed the perquisite of 
Drayton’s clothing till Drayton intimated that he had 
come into his rights. 

Suddenly Drayton remembered that it was growing 
late, and he began to make a toilet; while at the same 
ns 


n6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


time Fifine appeared at his dressing-room door. She 
announced to Bernie — who hated her — that Madame 
was delaying her breakfast till Drayton should join her 
— and that it was bad for the Persian to wait for its 
cream. Drayton was hauling on a suspender when he 
heard the message given to Bernie in the room beyond. 
He experienced a sudden pause of his faculties, and 
leaned up against his dressing-table. By the time 
Bernie had returned, Drayton was getting into his coat: 
he had heard the man reply that Mr. Drayton would 
be with Madame in three minutes, and ordinarily it 
would have taken five from that point of procedure 
for Drayton to complete the process of dressing. Bernie 
knew a great many things, and among them not to enter 
the next room till Drayton had recovered himself: he 
knew as well as if he had seen him, that Drayton had 
suffered a stroke of emotional apoplexy. In short, 
Bernie himself had only maintained his composure by 
the most heroic efforts, and as for Fifine — but no one 
could tell whether she was unduly agitated or not: 
she was always so excessively engaged in living up 
to her employment of repeating Rosalie, that 
she had the appearance of incipient mania all of 
the time. 

Drayton and Bernie did not look at each other, and 
Drayton left the room. Breakfast was served on the 
floor below, at the back, where the sun streamed in. 
The Persian sat tolerantly in a table-high chair beside 
Rosalie. By the time Drayton had said “ good-morning ” 
to the military footman below, and the man’s hand 
had started on its aborted salute and had brought up 
standing, as it were, at the bottom of his waistcoat, 
Drayton had reached the breakfast-room door. He 
found it difficult to realise that his reward was so soon 


HOW HIGH-LIFE MET ITS OBLIGATIONS 117 


becoming his. Rosalie was brilliant with sun and 
golden-red fluff and warmth and perfume and a floating 
foliage of some early-day festooning, and she already 
sat behind the coffee. 

‘‘You see, ,, she said, all a-sheen with sun and gaiety, 
“you see how soon I have begun to help!” Drayton 
could not tell her how much she had begun to help. 
Already he felt ten years younger, and he began to 
believe that he would one day have time for the good 
things of life. 

Mentally he added some Tadema decorations to the 
dining-room of the new yacht, and he secretly resolved 
to secure nightingales* tongues with which Rosalie 
should feed the Kaiser. 

All the answer Drayton had for her was to kiss her 
petals and to smile: he was strictly American, and early 
day was no more the time for demonstration than it 
was for champagne; but it was hard work to absorb 
chops and tomato sauce under such unprecedented 
circumstances. 

“I suppose we ought to talk business now, oughtn’t 
we, Bridge? — Add and subtract things?” 

Her trepidation was very great and Drayton replied 
seriously: 

“Well, no; not necessarily this morning; we might 
begin to-night, after dinner ” 

“Oh, I’ve made an engagement with the Guerri£res 
for dinner, Bridge; and as it was made so long ago, I 
can’t get out of it. I’ve thought of the hateful thing 
all night — hardly slept a wink!” 

“Then we’ll begin business to-morrow, not this 
morning. We won’t bother our heads about anything 
this morning. I feel that finance is going to be greatly 
simplified by these morning discussions.” 


n8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Rosalie looked at Drayton, then laughed. “You 
don’t mean that, Bridge; you’re just being absurd.” 

“Well, if you knew how absolutely true it is, you 
would be amazed. Already, quite unconscious of any 
mental effort, two annoyances have been solved to my 
mind. The process began with that first muffin; with 
this second one I’m going to wipe one difficulty off the 
slate; and while I look at you — more cream, please! It 
was good of you, Rosalie, to do things all yourself — to 
get rid of Grant this morning. Not but what I think 
Grant a very nice sort of person, but really, after two 
years, he should know the precise shade of coffee pre- 
ferred by each member of the family, shouldn’t he? I 
take mine half a shade darker than you take yours, and 
I noticed once — when we breakfasted together two years 
ago — that he had not the slightest idea about it: he 
didn’t shade it, he simply poured in cream.” Rosalie 
glanced at Drayton, who spoke gravely, and she rippled. 
“Why, I am astonished at such levity,” he returned, 
putting down his cup. “When serious matters are 
under discussion — ” She rippled again. “Now, when 
you feed the Kaiser — pardon me, when you honour him 
at luncheon — I think you will have to re-train Grant 
so that the corks won’t all pop down the back of the 
Kaiser’s neck. There are several little improvements to 
be worked into Grant’s system — nothing serious, but 
still to be considered before he attends His Majesty; 

and ” Rosalie gurgled and purled with laughter. 

Drayton looked shocked, and gave her a droll glance 
from out the tail of his eye. 

“If one cork in seven could be corralled in a napkin, 
it would greatly add to His Majesty’s sense of security. 
I assume that you will transfer the man on the door to 
Cowes. Thus you will have a man at perpetual salute 


HOW HIGH- LIFE MET ITS OBLIGATIONS 119 


before His Highness ” Rosalie trilled like a bird. 

Drayton’s eyes drooped at the corners, and this gave to 
his face a peculiarly pathetic expression when in repose ; 
but when he was amused, little wrinkles of merriment 
crept about his eyes even before his mouth smiled. 
Rosalie was entirely satisfied with his exterior: such a 
man was necessary to occasional pictures which she pre- 
sented for her friends’ consideration. No better com- 
panion than Drayton lived: a comrade at play; for 
sympathy ; in hours when force and courage and strength 
were needed. 

Rosalie was having a truly good time, and thought 
frequently during the hour that she would breakfast 
with Bridge again. 

“When you have the time to breakfast with me like 
this, Bridge ” 

“I’ll always have the time. I’ll take the time ” 

“Oh, you mustn’t let it interfere with your business, 
Bridge. I wouldn’t be selfish like that, for the world.” 

“Oh, no. We’ll do business together, you know.” 

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you have promised to let me 
help; to tell me all about things, so that I will under- 
stand and be — be — a part of it.” And as Drayton rose 
to go, she said, without being able to conceal her 
eagerness: 

“That — woman — is to go, Bridge? ” 

Drayton stopped at the door; he felt as if something 
clutched at his heart. 

“Yes,” he said hurriedly. “Yes, to-day,” and left 
the house. 

But the day had grown dark again. He started to go 
down by the Elevated, intending first to walk west through 
the Park; but he retraced the few steps he had taken 
from his own door, and got into the machine which was 


120 


IN HIGH PLACES 


waiting as usual for him. After all, his impulse to go 
through the Park was a cowardly one ; he only meant to 
gain a little time for himself. He looked at everything, 
yet saw nothing on his way downtown. When he 
entered the offices Rorke was at his desk, and he very 
gently rose as if partly in deference, partly to impress 
Drayton with his presence. Drayton stared at him 
and said in a tone all unfamiliar to everybody in its 
brusqueness: 

“Sit down, sit down,” and passed through. As he 
arrived at Wolfschon’s door, Wolfschon came to the 
threshold with a sheet of paper in his hand. After a 
movement with his head, he said: 

“I’ve got Crothers’s figures all right.” Drayton 
nodded and took the sheet of paper from his partner’s 
hand. He had not heard Wolfschon’s words, but he 
knew what Wolfschon was likely to say upon greeting 
him, in view of the conversation of the night before. 
He passed on; when he came to his own door he halted 
the least fraction of a minute, then he opened the door 
and closed it behind him. His secretary said “Good- 
morning,” as she had said it every morning for the past 
ten years: she had been his stenographer at seventeen. 
He had trained her up to ten thousand a year, and cheap 
at that. 

When Drayton did not answer, she turned her head, 
and her eyes followed him in to the little room. After 
the first glance, she straightened in her chair and sat 
with her elbows resting on its arms, while she watched 
him absorbedly for a moment; then turned, and bent 
over her desk again. She did not mention the rou- 
tine business, but worked silently. Drayton sat at 
his desk ; he placed his hand upon his letters and did not 
move again for some time. After ten minutes — not 








HOW HIGH LIFE MET ITS OBLIGATIONS 12 1 


having looked the woman’s way, not having touched 
his bell, not having made a sound — he said: 

“ You’ll have to go.” There was a little longer silence 
in the room, then Jean Meredith softly laid down her 
pen, much as Rorke would do — as if someone were dead ; 
then she rose from the half-finished word she had been 
writing, and went into the inner room. She had not 
looked at Drayton, nor he at her. After a moment 
she came out with her hat and coat on, and started 
toward the outer door. 

“Jean ” She stopped with her back toward him, 

and stood still. “What are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to sail for Europe at ten o’clock, to-morrow 
morning, on the Kaiser .” Drayton had a sub-conscious- 
ness that he was tired of the Kaiser — so sick of him that 
he did not know what was the matter. 

After a moment she again moved toward the door. 
With her hand upon the knob she turned and smiled 
at Drayton without lifting her eyes. It was a splendid, 
illuminating, heroic smile; he was looking at her face, 
his sensitive nostrils quivering, his hands holding fast 
to the arms of his chair. He said in a strange, un- 
familiar voice: 

“I know what you mean,” and he, too, tried to smile, 
but he could not; and Jean Merideth had bade good- 
bye to Drayton and to his service — which was all she 
cared for in this world. 

No summons coming from Drayton’s room, Rorke 
invented an excuse for entering there. He gently 
turned the door knob, subtly inserted himself into the 
room, then looked at Drayton. He was sitting in the 
same position that he had been in when Jean Merideth 
had passed out, and he was still looking at the door. 


122 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Rorke encountered his fixed gaze and hesitated; he 
stood uncertain what to do till Drayton made a motion 
of dismissal, then he cautiously opened the door 
and went out again. Drayton heard someone on the 
other side say in measured tones: “My record is one 
hundred and seventy-eight — and a fraction; it is my 
purpose to acquire one hundred and eighty words ; they 
will be worth ten dollars more a week to me.” Then 
presently, Drayton left the building. 


CHAPTER VII 


“you can lead a horse to water ” 

T HAT night Drayton entered his house at midnight 
and went at once to bed. Bernie did not speak to 
him, either to say “Good-night, sir,” or to say, “Shall I 
bring you something, sir?” He simply brought it, and 
went out, leaving Drayton to go to bed without service. 
For the first time in his experience, Drayton was afraid 
that Bernie might be indiscreet and speak to him at 
the wrong time. It revealed how Drayton's nerves had 
begun to menace him. 

After he had left his office in the afternoon, he had 
gone to his Club, and had walked all about the place; 
perhaps he had spoken to people, but he didn’t know. 
Then he had walked uptown on the west side as far as 
the viaduct; then it was night, and he had gone down 
to the office again. Everybody had gone, had been 
gone for hours, and the building was deserted 
save for engineer and watchman. He had gone first 
to Stebbins’s room. He had sat down and tried to fix 
his mind upon the circumstances of the meeting there 
in the night before. 

He only recalled that Jean Merideth had ordered 
William on duty, had notified Wolfschon, had sent a 
messenger to the S. S. offices, had wired Crothers in 
Washington, had ordered luncheon to be served, had 
chosen Stebbins’s room — because the directors’ room 
let on Henley’s windows. That was all that he could 
recall of the night before. He went over the details 

123 


124 


IN HIGH PLACES 


several times in his mind. Then he remembered that 
he had meant to dine, self-invited, at the Wolfschftns’ 
that night. He seemed not to have done it. 

Then he wandered into Wolfschon’s deserted room. 
He found an envelope that had borne a stamp for a 
return answer, a-soak in the porcelain stamp-box that 
adorned Wolfschon’s desk. He felt that something 
of an unusual character must have interrupted his 
partner before the process of removing the stamp had 
been completed. Drayton very carefully took the float- 
ing stamp from the water and dried it on the blotting 
pad, and laid it upon Wolfschon’s desk to make glad 
his eye when he should enter in the morning, full of 
regret that he had finally forgotten to preserve it. 

After that, Drayton went into a small room at the 
end of the corridor — where Clem broke all records but 
his own, from time to time — and found himself staring 
at some abstruse calculations scribbled upon the 
stenographer’s note-book. The combination of one 
hundred and eighty, and sixty and sixty multiplied, 
occurred in insistent if irregular procession, and Drayton 
felt a strange tolerance of it all. That represented 
Clem’s ambition — an entirely worthy one: one that 
should secure to him a salary of thirty-five dollars per 
week, which was about ten dollars over his fellow 
stenographers’ in the same position. 

The woman who “took directly to the machine” had 
a desk in the corner. She was a continual stimulation 
to Clem, though he despised her: she was without a 
record. Clem would not have been professionally like 
her for a year’s salary ; no, not for two. Every time he 
looked at her he was thankful for his record, which so 
far removed him from the common herd. 

Drayton noticed that her veil was in a lady-like wad 


“YOU CAN LEAD A HORSE TO WATER — ” 125 


under the edge of the machine (which was not drop-head, 
but had a tin cover on it). Her gum was in a pathetic 
bunch under the ledge of the desk and could only be 
seen from a certain low angle; Clem could see it, and 
he resented it, when he leaned over to throw things into 
the waste basket. A dusty and half-forgotten chocolate 
drop — which would be recalled in some moment of 
depression when she felt the need of it and lacked the 
time to go out for fresh ones — lay with a hair-pin and 
a shoe-buttoner, just within the drawer which Drayton 
idly pulled open. 

He thought that he was interested in it all, especially 
in the woman typewriter’s symbols: they alone seemed 
to mean nothing in this world. They alone spoke to 
him of inconsequence, and consequently of rest. He 
sat down in her chair and leaned his arms on the top of 
the tin cover for a moment. 

Presently he passed back through the corridor and 
glanced at Rorke’s room. He stood upon the threshold 
without venturing within: suddenly an oppression born 
of a relation of ideas settled upon him, and he felt himself 
to be suffocating. Rorke, the supererogatory! Rorke 
with his painful suggestion of painstaking! Drayton 
felt that if Rorke were to appear before him now, and 
were carefully to turn the knob of the door, and more 
carefully to release it, and were gently to put down his 
pen, and impressively to blot his calculations, as if 
softly, surely squashing the life out of them — Drayton 
felt that if Rorke were to materialise, he, Drayton 
would go stark mad. 

And now he started to leave the building; on his way 
he found himself face to face with a door toward which 
he had not even looked. He had turned from it as if 
within lay the dead, shrouded and composed for the grave, 


126 


IN HIGH PLACES 


but wearing a mien all distorted with the agonies of 
his past life. He stopped and stared, and the sweat 
started upon his forehead, and his hand clenched, and 
he knew that he must go in. He must go in just as 
some people visit the morgue, perhaps — to learn all the 
fulness of morbid horror. 

He placed his hand upon the knob of the door and 
then paused: he thought of the hands that had touched 
it, coming between his and the woman’s he was missing. 

He opened the door and went into the inner room 
without seeing anything in passing: the place was dark 
and he must have felt his way except for an electric 
light that streamed from a roof beyond his south win- 
dows. He did not look to right or left as he went through 
the room. He stood a moment in the inner office and 
then he passed out and sat at his closed desk. He sat 
just as he always had — half turned toward the desk 
on the opposite side of the room, the telephone at his 
left. He kept his eyes averted: there in the dark he 
felt as if his hands were pressed upon the face of the 
dead, and his spirit was chilled. 

'‘Oh, God! If I might but — ” and Drayton stopped, 
afraid of his own voice. As he sat there in the 
dark, he suddenly remembered a day when she 
had had a headache; he started up and flung his 
arms out. He remembered that it was a day of 
stress and worry and he had said: “If you can get 
through with things, it’ll mean a lot to me.” He 
heard again the kind but indifferent tones of his long- 
ago uttered words, and he saw her nod and bend 
steadily to her task. And he saw the contraction 
of her face now and then, as she had held herself un- 
flinchingly to his interests ; cheerfully, eagerly. Drayton 
was almost dead. He strangled, and tried to get from 


“YOU CAN LEAD A HORSE TO WATER—” 127 


under the weight of inexorable memory. He had per- 
mitted her to work; he had induced her to work, by 
speaking of his persistent interests. He had never said: 

14 1 cannot see you work any more — when you are so 
ill. You must rest to-day, and to-morrow — and always 
if you will.” He had said: 4 4 Work as long as you can 
hold out ; nothing but my interests and Rosalie's matter. 
Work! I pay you ten thousand a year to work — work!* 1 

He had not looked toward the desk in the darkness 
there in the corner, and now he rose and stumbled from 
the room, his hands to his throat. The hysteria that 
Drayton as a well-poised man controlled, was a factor 
in his success. It was that instinctive element in his 
temperament which made of him an opportunist ; which 
enabled him to grasp the moment, the occasion. But 
it was all agony for Drayton. 

“You can make a man do things — but you can't stop 
his thoughts," he muttered, whatever he meant! 


CHAPTER VIII 


how the Jew’s world wags! 

R OSALIE did not breakfast with Drayton the next 
morning nor for many mornings. At first he 
was hardly conscious of it: he was living apart, even 
from himself. He was trying blindly to separate the 
wheat from the chaff of his own soul. He was trying to 
find out which was real to him and which was mostly 
imaginative. Rosalie just at present seemed to stand 
for the unrealities of his life; and yet, she was the king- 
pin of his existence. All of life was a bass accompani- 
ment to the beautiful obligato of Rosalie and her harmo- 
nious chansonette of a soul. 

At the office Drayton had for weeks been trying to 
adjust his business to a mechanism that left the balance- 
wheel of Jean Merideth out. He would be able to do 
this in the course of time, but not at once. He made 
no attempt to get a new secretary. Her desk was not 
disturbed; no one asked any questions; no one, unless 
it was Wolfschon or Stebbins, had any business to ask 
any questions, and they only looked at the vacant place 
one morning, with some surprise, and asked nothing. 

Wolfschon only thought that Drayton was economising 
ten thousand dollars’ worth, and Stebbins had had the 
secretary of another man on his mind; one on whom 
he had been trying to economise for a year and a half, 
and who had not succeeded in helping him to do it. 

Stebbins was a man of no especial taste because it was 
expensive to have tastes; and yet, for some reason, he 

128 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


129 


was always paying more for a cheap article than most 
men paid for something a good deal better. Stebbins 
never knew it, however: he had faith in his own 
judgment. 

In August Rorke had announced to Rosalie, who 
was in the Adirondacks, that the yacht was architec- 
turally enough advanced for her consideration and inspec- 
tion. Rosalie was up north in a new place Drayton 
had bought, and which he was having done up into a 
game preserve for the future generation of Draytons, 
which he had no hope of contributing. 

Rorke went up into the mountains then, and presented 
the finest thing afloat to Rosalie. The house was full 
of people; the best that could be got within certain 
unintellectual limits. Henley and Ida had been up for 
a few days, but they lived at Newport. Rosalie didn’t 
as yet. Rosalie would have been lonesome at Newport. 
Ida had said: 

“This is a nice place, isn’t it — for people who like this 
sort of thing?” And she had said it so nicely and with such 
apparent willingness to be pleased, that Rosalie had 
not killed her. 

Henley had talked with Rosalie of finance and Van 
Vorst and his own interests which she could further; 
and Rosalie had felt encouraged and was more deter- 
mined than ever. Henley meant that she should be. 

Then the Henleys had gone. Drayton had not been 
up ; he could not go ; he worked harder than his smallest 
and most ubiquitous office boy ; harder than the office 
boy who said all day: “Mr. Drayton is very busy, sir. 
Mr. Wolfschon is in conference, won’t be free for two 
hours, sir. Mr. Stebbins has just gone out.” 

If Drayton had worked all out of reason before the 
woman had walked out of his office three months back, 


130 


IN HIGH PLACES 


he worked now far above his capacity. His spirit was 
almost worked out, and his flesh had given notice to 
quit days ago ; still he worked. Rosalie with the tolerant 
Persian in a blue-lined basket, had gone away very soon 
after Drayton had made the change which was to bring 
them so close together in the future. She was too 
fragile to stand the heat of the city, and the burden of 
that change so lovingly anticipated by Drayton. They 
had seen much more of each other, she and he, before 
she had gone away, and Drayton was too conscientious 
in his application of his powers to her future glory 
(against that hour when she should have the Kaiser to 
luncheon) to know when Rosalie had reached her limit 
of sensitive-plant endurance. She began to crush and 
crumple, and flutter and sway, and vibrate and riot, 
and swoon and ebulliate, and faint for need of trans- 
planting; and it was all so beautiful and appealing that 
Drayton, grateful for what he had received to the verge 
of spiritual prostration, had hastened to get her away 
to where she might blossom anew, and spread her petals 
to the forest-filtered sun — she and the cat. 

He did not know that he was lonely. He and Wolf- 
schon worked by day and by night; but they took life 
differently: Wolfschon “thought less and worked 

more.” Drayton had never found a meaning in that 
phrase, but he liked it because it almost meant some- 
thing. It was so elusive, and frequently occupied him 
restfully in trying to think out a meaning and appli- 
cation for it. He knew, of course, what Wolfschon 
meant, but he wanted so sounding an apothegm to 
mean something in itself. 

Rorke had gone up and had laid the achievement of 
the yacht before Rosalie, and she had immediately come 
to town, rustling her renascent freshness and loveliness; 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 131 

and she had inspected the yacht, which was as yet 
without decoration, and pronounced it good; and had 
brought to the hotel apartments, where Drayton was 
living, a breath of promise; and finally had drooped 
again with the dust and heat, and had folded her fra- 
grance within her petals, and had gone — back to the 
woods and streams for which Drayton longed and for 
which he had no time. The city was vaster and hotter 
and heavier to him after she had gone; but she had 
left much behind to occupy him; she had done a sur- 
prising amount of work while she remained. The bills 
showed that, as they descended upon Drayton, and 
were so lovingly, gratefully paid by him. 

Once during the season he had had to borrow twelve 
thousand dollars from a club friend for a day. Those 
details nagged him, but he had his compensations. 
The coming year would find him rid of one sort of annoy- 
ance, which now sometimes assailed him. He only 
realised how closely he had tied up his money when 
Rosalie spoke from the mountain-top. 

He had never been to Wolfschon’s to the dinner that 
he had promised himself, and as he and Wolfschon the 
Jew left the office in Drayton’s light machine one hot 
night, he said: 

" Where are you going to dine, Wolfschon? ” 

"Repecca and I stay at home most of the time ” 

"Is Mrs. Wolfschon in town?’* Wolfschon moved his 
head and clucked. 

"Oh, yes. She and the children went away last month, 
but she brought back Maxie and Solly, and the baby 
this week; the others are still in the country. Repec- 
ca will return with them in a few days, but we like to get 
together once in a while during summer — because it 
iss so damnt lonesome if we don’t. Where do you go?" 


i3 2 


IN HIGH PLACES 


"I don’t know; almost any place except to the sea. 
The sea’s so damned wnlonesome this time of year.” 

“Gome up to the house vit Repecca and me; Maxie’s 
there and will keep you laughing the whole time. Gome 
vit me.” 

“Thanks!” said Drayton. “I’ll be glad to, if it 
won’t put Mrs. Wolfschon out — ” He found himself 
thinking of the establishment as if it were the cobbler’s, 
perhaps; and as if Rebecca might have planned just 
enough for the family dinner, and might have to go and 
get in and cook something more, her very self. 

“No; everything’s running just as usual. Repecca 
always keeps them so. It’s lonesome enough without 
the children, without having the place shut up like a 
hearse. Repecca just covers up the vurniture, and puts 
mosquito netting offer the gilt things, and everything 
else iss the same.” 

They went through the Park and tried to Vnd a fresh, 
untainted breath of air ; but the Park smelled dusty and 
was unsatisfactory, and they turned back and went to 
Wolfschon’s. The house was cool and suggested 
occupancy upon entering, and its slightly bizarre beauty 
was all undimmed. The Wolfschons had a splendid 
home, but its splendour did not seem to have hurt it, 
Drayton thought. It was somewhat Oriental — the 
taste displayed in its furnishing; and Drayton might not 
have cared to live in it, but it was quite all right. And 
the satisfaction it was to Wolfschon to recall how 
cheaply Rebecca had acquired much that was without 
price now that he possessed it, was pleasant to see. 
What he felt was deep, organic. 

The footman let them in, and he seemed to have lost 
something that should have gone with his back. Prob- 
ably it was the result of a certain air of relaxation that 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


i33 


was in the atmosphere of Wolfschon’s house. For a 
footman, he looked almost comfortable. 

The men had hung up their hats, and were going to 
the back of the hall, when Rebecca Wolfschon leaned 
over the stairs from above. 

‘‘Louis, would you like that feesh dressed with bay 
leafs or without? If with nothing, I want to tell the 
cook. And come up here, Louis, while I chanche my 
clothes. 

“Drayton’s with me” — Wolfschon called. 

“Iss that so, Mr. Drayton? Well, I’m awful glad.” 
And she came down the stairs halfway, while Drayton 
with alacrity anticipated her purpose. She shook his 
hand, while holding together a somewhat non-committal 
blue-green and dust-coloured wrapper. “I’ll be down 
in just a minute. Maxie ’ll come down rite away— 
Maxie — ” she called in a good, strong, far-carrying 
voice, that bore a rich contralto note — “Maxie, your 
father’s come.” 

A young voice above, two flights, called back “All 
right.” And somebody began to come down the stairs 
in clumps. 

“You just go into the library with Louis and I’ll be 
there in a minute, when I’ve gomt my hair.” Drayton 
could not help looking at Rebecca Wolfschon’s hair. 
It looked as if she had been born with it combed and 
gleaming black; and he wondered how it all came about, 
because the crisp, tight-curling coarse hair seemed as if 
it must defy all ordinary manipulation. He turned down 
the stair as Max Wolfschon reached the upper landing. 

“Hello, Mr. Drayton,” he said, in a good breezy voice. 
“Dad’s come?” Drayton stepped aside, while Wolf- 
schon grinned and clucked and threw his arm over the 
boy’s shoulder. 


134 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“ Mr. Drayton iss going to stay with us for dinner ” 

“Thank the Lord, Mr. Drayton! — then we’ll have 
something that’s not kosher.” Wolfschon laughed, and 
at the sound Drayton started and looked at his partner. 
Before Heaven! It was the first time he had ever heard 
Wolfschon laugh, and they had been partners for 
eighteen years. Drayton looked again to make sure; 
but it was true, and Wolfschon was grinning yet. 

“That won’t make any difference with you, Maxie. 
You’ll haf to eat kosher just the same. The salt will 
mark kosher, and Mr. Drayton will sit above it ” 

“Father didn’t say ‘below it,’ Mr. Drayton, so that 
puts kosher next. I’m next to kosher all of the time — 
but to-night I’m not going to be up against it.” 

They all laughed at something. Perhaps nobody knew 
just what. The footman laughed too. 

Into the library — which held a magnificent selection 
of classics and rare volumes, all within arm’s reach of 
Wolfschon’s chair, too — the footman who had some- 
thing missing in his backbone brought Wolfschon and 
Drayton something to drink that was cool and helpful. 
Drayton walked about, looking at Wolfschon’s books. 
He had been there before, but had not been there under 
these every-day conditions. Before this, they had always 
been lost in enterprise. Drayton was interested in the 
obviously worn and well-read appearance of the books. 

“You find time to read a good deal, Wolfschon?” 

“Oh, not much. A gouple of hours, perhaps. But I 
rub against ’em, I rub against ’em.” And Wolfschon 
laughed again. 

“It’s Pasach that makes them look worn, Mr. 
Drayton,” Max Wolfschon said. 

“Max, if you don’t speak more respectful of the 
relitchion of your father, I’ll speak to your mother.” 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


1 3S 


“Whither Rebecca goes, I go, father — even ” 

“Maxie ” 

“Mother, am I, or am I not to use a razor next year?” 
“Yes,” she said, as she entered and shook hands with 

Drayton again. “Yes, you are to use a razor ” 

Wolfschon looked at her in amazement. “Nonsense! 

Repecca, don’t tell the child a lie, effen in fun ” 

“There,” said Max triumphantly. “I told you ” 

“Louis, I haf promised Maxie he shall use a razor — if 
he won’t forget to wash his hants before the meat.” 
She held up her own hands helplessly and with an expres- 
sion of anxiety on her face. “I talked to that boy till 
I’m blind, Mr. Drayton, and he will not remember some- 
thing. But I thought and thought, Louis, which would 
be the worst: for him to use a razor or to forget to wash 
his hants. He all the time wants to use a razor — all the 
time. And so I think maybe Max will be safer to wash 
his hants — that was how, Louis!” The anxiety on her 
face was real, and Wolfschon leaned back and regarded 
his son, who was looking from his father to his mother 
with exaggerated seriousness. His small eyes narrowed, 
and he sat studying the boy. Presently he moved 
his head and announced with conviction: 

“ I think Max is lost anyway.” 

The footman announced dinner as if his own dinner 
habitually agreed with him, and Max put his arm about 
his father’s waist with a peculiar mergence of Eastern 
emotion and Western nonchalance, as Drayton and 
Rebecca preceded them. 

Drayton caught a bit of by-play between Max and the 
butler that amused him. The butler half glanced at 
Drayton and then meaningly at young Wolfschon, and 
indicated a somewhat overgrown golden salt-cellar that 
obviously stood with Max and the butler for a division 


136 


IN HIGH PLACES 


of the sheep from the goats. The interchange of glances 
occupied but a moment, and there was naught but good 
humour and youth involved, and Drayton smiled broadly. 
Presently he would laugh again: he had laughed twice 
since coming into the house. 

44 Where’s Solly ?” Wolfschon asked. 

44 He is so long cleaning himself that he is always late,” 
Rebecca answered. Drayton felt a slight shock to his 
aesthetic system. The English was correct: he won- 
dered why he felt cause for complaint. He decided that 
he had none. 

At that moment, as they were sitting, Solomon 
came in. 

44 Here, Solly,” Max Wolfschon called to his younger 
brother, 44 here, I've saved a place for you beside me, 
above the salt.” Max laughed and his father smiled, 
and Rebecca shook her head indulgently and raised her 
hands. 

44 He iss the funniest boy,” she said aside to Drayton. 

Solomon Wolfschon shook his head, and ostentatiously 
and pantomimically washed his hands beside Max as he 
passed him, and then sat on the other side of his father 
as Max jumped up and began to wash his hands in dumb 
show. 44 By Jove, that razor, Mother!” he said. Re- 
becca looked grave and ended by fatly shaking with 
laughter. Wolfschon was talking with Solomon, who 
had greeted Drayton in a gentle and pleasantly hospi- 
table way. He was quite unlike his brother Max — save 
that race was dominant in both. He was two years 
younger and less robust, and more Oriental in 
appearance. 

44 1 suppose your own children, Max, will know nothing 
below the salt?” Drayton asked playfully. 

44 Oh, yes, they will, sir.” Max suddenly became 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


I 37 


grave. Wolfschon looked anxiously up and kept his 
eye on the boy’s handsome, expressive face. ‘‘Yes, 
they will. I shall have a larger family than father has, 
and soon enough for them all to learn of him and 
Mother.” Wolfschon relaxed and smiled, made the 
movement of his head on its axis and began his dinner. 
Rebecca looked at Drayton and nodded with satisfaction. 

“ Maxie may be American ; that’s for Maxie to decide; 
but his chiltren will be Jews,” she said apart. “I don’t 
worry.” 

“The vorg wass very vine, Fadther,” Solomon was 
saying to Wolfschon. “ I dthink it pre-Rafaelite, and in 
part effen Greek. I would have boughdt it, at any 
brice, but modther didn’t dthing best. She said it 
could pe boughdt for half, when Mr. Hooper failedt.” 
Solomon’s accent was patois that could be cut with a 
knife. It was barely noticeable in the other Wolfschons. 

“Is Hooper about to fail?” Drayton asked with 
some surprise. 

“Repecca says so,” Wolfschon answered. “Have 
you good reasons for thinking that, Repecca?” 

“A man who shows such poor judgment when he buys, 
iss going to fail.” 

“Oh,” said Drayton; but he recalled the conversation 
six months later, when Hooper did fail and Rebecca 
bought the pre-Rafaelite that had pleased Solomon. 

“You are not going into the antique business, are you, 
Solomon?” Drayton asked. 

“No, sir, I am nodt to go indo business.” Drayton 
looked in some surprise at Wolfschon. 

“No,” said Wolfschon, perceiving the look of inquiry. 
“Max will go along with me, and I guess Jakey will, 
but two or three men in a family who go into finance, are 
enough. Effery family owes it do itself to devote about 


i3» 


IN HIGH PLACES 


so much time to art and schgolarship , and a business 
man cannodt do that. The only way iss, for them to 
agree what member of the family shall keep out of 
business and attend to art. In my family, Solomon iss 
the one. We all agree. His brothers are satisfied, and 
they will do the vorg, while Solly will go abroad where he 
can enjoy himself, and keep up the traditions of the 
family, eh?” Wolfschon seemed to interrogate, and the 
two boys nodded, both equally pleased: as a fact the 
“traditions of the family ” were important in some ways, 
though only Wolfschon, and his wife maybe, knew it: 
Wolfschon was the natural son of a Jew banker who 
juggled the finances of all Europe. 

The difference between the speech of Solomon Wolf- 
schon and the emasculated Jewry of Max was remark- 
able, and there was something irresistibly charming to 
Drayton in both the boys. Solomon’s half-smouldering 
Orientalism, beside Max’s enthusiastic Americanism, 
formed a sharp but pleasing contrast; and the atmos- 
phere of brotherly affection and understanding was 
beautiful to encounter. Drayton listened to the musical 
guttural of Rebecca, with her widely differing yet de- 
bauched English, and beheld in it a sign of feminine 
adaptability: she was of Wolfschon’s class and mental 
possibilities; not developed, of course, to the same ex- 
tent ; yet she had far less trace of alien speech than was 
to be observed in Wolfschon. He, himself, was as near 
the original Wolfschon (or Erleicher) as it was possible 
for a man to be, after being subdued by the rigours of 
civilisation; and plainly, paternalism was the rule in 
his family. Max might take liberties with the ways of 
his father, but that was the exuberance of youth, rather 
than a new viewpoint. The next generation of Wolf- 
schons would differ from the present only in detail. 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


i39 


When Drayton left the Wolfschons' door, he turned 
west, toward Fifth Avenue and his own house. He felt 
a strange yearning for some of the good things of life: 
warmth of feeling, spontaneity of thought and action. 
He would not think of his hotel apartments. His home 
was best, even though it were tight closed and boarded 
against comfort and the season. Home, in any con- 
dition, but home! It was all Drayton could think of. 
He left the Wolfschons' reluctantly, determined to re- 
turn again and yet again to rest for an hour in the truth 
and affection of the Jew's household. A place full of 
homely and real aspiration! So full of splendid actuali- 
ties of love and tenderness ! 

He recalled the winter night when he had rounded 
the comer, to find Rosalie leaving her carriage; the 
night when he had carried her upstairs ; the night when 
he had learned to do without Jean Merideth. He lifted 
and dropped his shoulders to rid them of a chimerical 
burden. But it was some antalgic for the soul that 
Drayton needed most. Could that have been found, his 
shoulders would have straightened of their own accord. 

He passed the front entrance, with its forbidding aspect 
of boarded door and windows, and went below to the 
iron grill of the area. First he passed through a long 
cemented way that led to the back: the way of the 
tradespeople; and knocked upon his own door. After 
a moment the caretaker appeared in his shirt sleeves, 
smoking his pipe. He peered through the grating. 
It was night and he did not at first recognise Drayton. 

“Only I, Schaus," he said. “I thought I would like 
to sleep at home to-night." 

“Oh, I didn’t recognise you, sir, in the dark. Anna," 
he called, unlocking the door. “ Mr. Drayton will stay 
here to-night. Go upstairs and look after things," and 


1 46 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Drayton heard some one shuffling up the stairs, through 
the dark, ahead of him. He said no more, but went 
the basement way to the first floor. The elevator was 
there, with the door open. Drayton recalled that it was 
in the elevator Rosalie had said she liked to shop in 
the rain because the coachman looked so “ ‘ streaked” 
on the box. He tried to smile as he had succeeded in 
smiling that night, but for some reason he could not. 
It did not seem to be so the result of naivete as it had that 
night when they were going up to Rosalie’s apartments. 
He shivered in the close atmosphere of the dark house, 
and turned to watch Anna’s taper affixed to a gas lighter, 
going steadily up to the third floor. After a moment he 
drew aside the curtains that fell before the reception 
room at the right of the hall. He stood peering into its 
blackness a moment and then lighted a match; every- 
thing was desolate, even the electricity was off. The 
match flared up, shot a gleam for an instant even into 
the far comers, then flickered down and emphasised the 
loneliness and stillness that reigned. 

Drayton stood still in the dark. Certainly, his place 
was magnificent! 

An hour later he sat in the Box and thought. The 
atmosphere was necessarily the same stuffy one that he 
had encountered upon entering. In the Box he had 
found and jammed open a small window which opened 
upon the back garden of his next door neighbour. 
In the Box there was no nonsensical change; it was 
not a place of enough importance to anyone but him 
to command any particular attention. Drayton was 
glad of that. 

“Life is beautiful,” he reflected. “Sometimes I have 
doubted it because it was unbeautiful to me. But that 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


141 

was the attitude of a fool. Life at Wolfschon ’s is beauti- 
ful. I shall go there as often as possible. I shall be- 
come a bore to them, no doubt.” 

He wished he had seen the baby. Probably it was 
asleep. Wolfschon and his wife did not seem to regard 
it as anything wonderful. Drayton did not remember 
that they discussed the baby. Probably because, a baby 
was not an unusual thing in the Wolfschon family — they 
doubtless had one always about. Even Solly must 
have been a baby not so very long ago. Solly was 
about ten years old. 

“ If I had a boy, it seems to me I should like him to be 
like Wolfschon’s Max,” thought Drayton — “a clear- 
eyed, loving, independent, capable lad. What talks a 
man might have with his boy; what good times Wolf- 
shon and Max must have! I fancy they go off to places 
together.” Drayton remembered that Wolfschon had 
arranged to go into the country with the machine next 
Sunday, just with Max alone. He had begun to plan for 
his wife and Solly, but Max had spoken to his father 
apart and begged that they go quite alone, “this time 
— so we can ‘chin,* Daddy!” Wolfschon’s face had 
been quite beautiful to Drayton to-night. “I do not 
believe I shall ever see him down at the office just as I 
have seen him before,” he thought. “The Wolfschon 
in his home as I saw him to-night will dominate my 
fancy hereafter, I am almost certain.” 

Drayton projected his imagination and thought when 
Max should go to college how fine it would be for Wolf- 
schon. Four years of loving anxiety and pride, and 
temporary disappointments: Max would turn to his 
father for moral support and encouragement; because 
Max would go through college in good shape. He 
would go there for business if only to get the 


142 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Wolfschons’ money’s worth; which, after all, is a 
good substantial reason. Why on earth shouldn't a man 
get his money’s worth? the rich American never does! 
Drayton didn’t believe he ever got his money’s worth. 
He thought he was going to the night he abandoned 
Jean Merideth! Perhaps he should in the fall. 

He wondered if Rosalie were quite happy up there. 
He would run up for a few days and feast his eyes upon 
her pleasure — if he had the time. If he had the time he 
would — Well, well, well, what use! He would take the 
time after the International was clinched. His thoughts 
reverted continually to a speech of Rosalie’s on that 
night when he gave up Jean Merideth. She said: 
“Almost anything might happen now.” He wondered 
if she had any real meaning, or if it was just a hazy 
bluff of a promise, all Rosalie’s own. Probably! At 
any rate, nothing seemed to have happened since, more 
than before. He fancied he should get a letter from her 
in the morning. He had no special reason for thinking 
so, but then, he might. Drayton leaned back and took 
her last letter, written the week before, from his pocket. 
It showed the wear and tear of Drayton’s frequent 
application. 

Among other things she wrote: “Even up here, I’m 
almost dead with the heat at times. I don’t see how 
you can stand it down there, Trowbridge. If it wasn’t 
for the companionship of this blessed cat, I couldn’t 
stand it. Oh! while I think of it: I ordered some table 
linen for the yacht — to be made with our monogram — 
something like that last lot which I ordered when in 
Belfast last year. When it arrives, have somebody look 
the things over before you accept them, because I 
won’t have any mistake about it. The bill, as I 
remember, was seven thousand three hundred and 


HOW THE JEW’S WORLD WAGS! 


M3 


thirty-four dollars. Of course, I suppose there’s duty. 
Be sure and see to it, Bridge. I’m very anxious it 
should be just right. When Rorke was here — that man 
gives me chills — I told him to have the bronze gates 
taken away and something different in their place. 
They never did suit me and I positively hate them now. 
I told him not to bother you with it, it was my affair. 
He sent up the estimate for new gates, and the designs. 
They will be wrought ironwork of intricate design and 
will be perfectly stunning. I wired him to go ahead. 
They will be something a little more than four thousand 
dollars — the designer or architect, or whatever it is who 
does such things, didn’t know just how much more: but 
it is to be somewhere around there, and I told him to 
hurry them up. They are way ahead of the gates at the 
Van Vorsts’ Lodge — you remember those? I always 
thought them the best looking things going. Theirs are 
not a patch upon these. I only mention them so that 
you Will understand when the bills are presented. Rorke 
will tell you about it if you care to be bothered with 
details. I hope you are behaving nicely, Bridge — 
thinking about me once in a while. It seems to me it 
would be quite dreadful to have a husband who never 
thought of one — like that man Stebbins, with whom you 
do business.” Drayton leaned back and thought of his 
heavy-weight partner, who did his share in paying for 
wrought-iron gates and Belfast linen and sumptuous 
yachts for Rosalie, and smiled wearily: “That man 
Stebbins with whom you do business.” 

He put down the letter and paused to make some 
rough calculations on the margin of a blank sheet of 
paper relative to the items in Rosalie’s letter. The 
gates of the newly approved pattern to be something 
above four thousand ! Drayton put down eight thousand 


144 


IN HIGH PLACES 


plus , and almost sweated at the plus that might 
mean almost anything. The Belfast linen? — Well, he 
would not think about it. He would remember — in- 
deed, he could not forget to adjust the matter — in the 
morning. He supposed he might ask Wolfschon for a 
personal loan. He could, of course; but he didn’t care 
to do it. Next month he would pull it through, but for 
the next two weeks Drayton was going to run close. 

He wondered what poor man would believe him if he 
told him that there were times and seasons when he, 
Drayton, was not certain as to where ten thousand 
dollars were coming from. It was all relative. 

Once he started to ring, and then remembered that 
the faithful Bemie was awaiting him at his hotel apart- 
ments. He did not feel like leaving the room: the only 
one in the whole house especially identified with him- 
self. As he looked about, he hardly wondered that 
Rosalie or her housekeeper had not thought it needful 
to swathe his furnishings in holland and undertake the 
usual efforts toward preservation. The room was 
simple in the extreme. The chairs were of leather, and 
not inviting to moths ; the few pieces of brie d brae had 
been picked up by him here and there, and most of them 
were valuable for their association, rather than intrin- 
sically. They pleased Drayton. He leaned his head 
upon his arms, which rested upon the table, and his 
mind went over the details of the past years in a desultory 
way. He had no definite thought till the last moment 
before exhaustion conquered his restlessness ; and that 
thought was of young Wolfschon. ‘‘If I had a son like 
that — ” he thought, and fell asleep. 


CHAPTER IX 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 

T HE summer was dragging along. Drayton, Wolf- 
schon and Stebbins knew little outside its great 
concentrated interest — the completing of the Inter- 
national Copper deal, which would mean to the house of 
Drayton, Wolfschon and Stebbins, an open alliance with 
the banking house of Erleicher. Stebbins had been in 
Europe ; Drayton was seldom anywhere outside his hotel 
apartments, the offices of the firm, and Wolfschon’s; 
but the world moved with as much regularity and with 
considerably more of picturesqueness in many other 
quarters. For instance, the Germans down in Houston 
Street still had some sort of “ east-side' * being during 
these days. Drayton could never bring himself to go 
into the Fifth Avenue house after that first experiment 
on the night of his first dinner at the Wolfschonsh 

The strain of business was telling upon him pitiably. 
He was of all things a man up to his work, but above 
all else, he was a man of temperament; and those pro- 
found depressions which he only overcame by an exercise 
of his fine, healthy appreciation of what was due to the 
world at large, seemed to visit him oftener than was 
proper to a man in outwardly fair health. The time 
came when he dreaded his isolation, because he too 
much preferred it. With a worthy rallying of his forces, 
Drayton determined to lift himself out of his rut of pessi- 
mism. Almost nightly these times as he sat alone till 
long after midnight, smoking the eternal cigar, with 
M5 


146 


IN HIGH PLACES 


the muffled roar of the hot city within touching distance, 
he sat oftenest with his hands clasped over his eyes, in 
the fashion objected to by Wolfschon, and his thoughts? 
— they were with a beautiful woman, whose voice was 
down deep in her chest — like a cello. There was nothing 
like it in all the world: this gradually developed necessity 
for a woman who was not his wife. Drayton did not 
as yet define his condition thus, but the definition would 
come to him yet, like a thief in the night. At first 
he had thought upon Jean Merideth as if by some 
psychic accident; then, presently he found himself in 
haste over his dinner in order to be alone, premeditatedly 
to think of her. Dinner was a lonesome affair, and never 
more so than when he was intruded upon by the chap 
who, like himself, had found it expedient to stay in town 
and who bore it less well than Drayton appeared to. 
Drayton’s former secretary — he did not love her, but in 
time she became his obsession, just as an invitation to 
the Van Vorsts’ was Rosalie’s obsession. Drayton’s 
suffering was more acute than the sufferings of almost 
anyone else in the world at this period of his career. 
Drayton, in the first place, was of finer stuff than most 
men. He endured his tragedies long and well. He was 
a man who made no complaint. He did not even impor- 
tune his wife. There were two decent reasons for this: 
he would not have intruded on any woman any wish 
which, by reason of her own attitude, could be made a 
selfish desire ; and anything granted less than voluntarily 
was worthless to Drayton. He worked all of the time, 
harder than the man in the ditch. The only compen- 
sations he had were his riches. He believed there must 
be something in them. To-night he recalled his German 
friends and felt some self-reproach: if he who had every 
condition to relieve the discomfort of a hot city summer, 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 147 


found the time irksome, what must the season mean to 
his friends down in Houston Street? — and he had not 
shared their conditions once. He determined to see 
them that very night. Then, unconscious at first of 
the workings of his mind, he felt some irritation, surely 
not at his German friends. When he came to define it — 
and Drayton was always defining things nowadays — it 
was because if he went to Houston Street, he must 
interrupt his thought of Jean Merideth. 

Drayton began then to realise himself. More than 
that, being off his feed and sleep, his hands began to 
shake with the revelation that came full upon him at 
this moment, and he couldn't hold his cigar, He felt 
a palpitation of the heart. He suddenly fell into his 
chair and wept, and that frightened him. He called 
“Bernie” in a loud distracted voice. 

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” Drayton 
pleaded; and Bernie, who had been looking for some- 
thing like this for the past week, didn’t know. 

“I’ll get a doctor, Mr. Drayton,” he said. 

“No, damn it!” said Drayton, who almost never 
swore. And not knowing what to do, Bernie placed 
his hand heavily on Drayton’s shoulder and shook him. 

“You must brace up, Mr. Drayton, and I’ll have you 
something in a minute to pick you up. and — don’t you 
think of a thing but getting a good night’s rest. Lord, 
Mr Drayton! Everything’s all right.” And Drayton 
lifted his head and looked heavily at the wall-paper, 
then sort of straightened up and said in a fairly natural 
tone: 

“Of course. I’m all right. I guess something to 
drink will square me, Bernie — thanks.” And he shook 
less and relaxed a bit as he leaned back in his chair. 
Bernie was half scared to death, but he had tumbled 


148 


IN HIGH PLACES 


over the right treatment. Perhaps the only rescue in 
the world for Drayton in this hour was a friendly sym- 
pathetic service of some kind. But it was also the last 
thing he might expect to receive. Resourceful, greatly 
responsible people are not supposed to need such treat- 
ment. They are supposed to prefer giving, and if they 
don’t, nobody is likely to find it out. 

After a few moments, Bernie brought Drayton some- 
thing fairly innocuous, but it was useful, because Dray- 
ton had the idea it was good for him and, also, Bernie’s 
solicitude imposed upon him an obligation to recover 
himself. About nine o’clock, he told Bernie he was going 
down to Houston Street to see some friends who lived 
there. Bernie was not surprised, only he hoped that 
Drayton was “all right.” Drayton thought he was, 
and thought he would be the more so for seeing his friends. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to ’phone Mr. Wolfschon, sir, 
and have him come over?” 

“No — we should get to talking business whether we 
meant to or not. And if we didn’t talk it, we should 
both be thinking it. I’ll go down to Houston Street.” 
Drayton felt that maybe if he saw a misery greater than 
his own, his would fade beautifully away ; hence he went. 
Even Drayton’s selfishness was of a high and decent 
order. 

He took a Third Avenue car and was scared all the 
way down for fear the motorman would run over the 
children. It got on his nerves and was not good for him. 
It was not the right sort of thing, even if it did “take 
his mind off. ’ ’ All the way down he flinched and frowned 
and drew his breath by jumps and kept saying “Damn 
it!” quite unlike himself. He forgot that it was hot 
and everything unlovely, because he expected someone 
would be killed on every block. When he reached 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 149 


Houston Street he was in a quiver again. At the foot 
of Johann's and Christopher’s stairs he tried to brace 
himself and get over it before he knocked upon their 
door. They would have returned from the table d’hote 
by now ! but as a matter of fact, only Christopher was 
there. Johann and Aline were still sitting in a Harlem 
restaurant ovei their coffee and had arrived at that 
moment in the evening when they invariably began to 
discuss their future. Johann was not playing at the 
table d’hote during these hottest weeks, and Christopher 
had long since left there. 

Christopher never saw Aline. He had given Johann 
a selfish reason for avoiding her. He suffered enough 
as it was, only he was superior to his sufferings, as 
Drayton had been to his all his life, up till now. 

Up in the Harlem restaurant, Johann was saying: 

“I am certain we can be married in November. I 
haff so much money now to make you happy without 
work. I could not haff you teach somebody’s children, 
Aline, when we are married. Now we haff the furniture, 
it is as if we were almost married; and on the first of 
November I shall pay the rent for three months of the 
flat over the milk store, and — ” He paused and a 
whimsical expression crossed his face. He did not 
appear to be altogether satisfied. 

“ What is it that you think?” Aline asked, in German. 
She would never learn any English, in all likelihood. 

“It was nothing.” 

“Yes, it was something — sad.” She was a girl who 
understood with all her senses, if almost never with her 
intelligence, and one she loved could conceal nothing. 
Johann had had some eight months’ experience with this 
intuitiveness of hers, and had learned to abandon subter- 
fuge. She was as persistent as intuitive, and it was only 


IN HIGH PLACES 


150 

a waste of time when Johann tried to get away from a 
moment like the present. 

“It is nothing much, ,, he said, “only I often think 
of my friend Christopher. He has been my friend since 
I was a young man ; before. And sometime I am afraid 
he will be lonesome/ * 

“I think, Johann,” Aline said, after a moment, 
“that maybe ” 

“Well?” 

“We should love to have him live in our house.” 
Johann tried to fix his gaze on the musicians and conceal 
his sudden emotion. 

“Maybe you do not like it, and I have made you 
troubled,” she ventured, looking anxiously into his 
face. Johann smiled and drew his hand across his eyes. 

“It is the sympathy I feel for the orchestra this hot 
weather,” he said, smiling at her. “You haff made me 
so happy as you always do, my Aline. I hafi sometimes 
been sad about our Chris, but I would not trouble you; 
and it was not right to say he should live in your house 
unless you said it first. But if it will not trouble you 

for him to live in your house ” And Johann laid 

his hand over hers. Then each looked at the other 
with tears. They enjoyed themselves so completely 
when they wept! Their happiness to-night seemed to 
be complete. They could never be happier when 
they had paid the three months’ rent for the flat 
above the milk shop and Johann should at last 
be wiping the family dishes for Aline in a spotless 
Harlem kitchen. 

“I will tell you, Aline, a little thing about our Chris. 
It is a secret and you will never speak, but since you 
are so good, I would like to talk of him and his 
affairs.” 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 151 


“You have never spoken of him, and he plays no more 
since we have loved, at the table d’hote. Does he not 
love anyone?” 

“Yes,” said Johann, recalling the day after Christmas 
when Christopher had gone forth to learn his fate. 
Yes, but he is disappointed.” And Johann told her 
something of that New Year’s day, while the girl listened 
sympathetically. 

“After that, he has always been looking for his niece,” 
he finished. 

“Has he got a niece?” Aline asked, full of sympa- 
thetic interest. 

“Yes, there was a niece three years ago who lived in 

Kassel ” Aline clattered her fork, because suddenly 

there was a lack of feeling in her fingers. “Christopher 
sent her the money to come to America, and she left 
her home but never came. I do not think she was bad 
and took his money, but I think maybe she got herself 
lost. We are much filled with anxiety when we think.” 

“What was her name?” said Aline, while in her own 
ears her voice sounded very far away. Johann noticed 
nothing. 

“ Elisabeth Waagen. She was to have married him — 
and he is very troubled.” Then there was a long silence. 
Johann was thinking of Christopher’s affairs and Aline 
was not able to speak. After a little she said: 

“I want to go home,” and when Johann, startled at 
the change in her voice, looked at her, he rose. 

“What is the matter of you?” he asked, staring at 
her in affright. 

“ I am sick,” she said. “ I want to go home.” Johann 
took her arm, his eyes never leaving her face. Every- 
body in the place was watching them, the girl had grown 
so white and the man so strained with fear. 


152 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“What is the matter?” he asked again as they stood 
in the entrance to the restaurant. 

“It was I,” said Aline. “I am Elisabeth Waagen. 
I want to go home.” Johann's hand went suddenly 
to his head and he rubbed his hand roughly through 
his hair. 

“It will be all right,” he answered, uttering the 
dominant wish if not the dominant thought in his mind. 
He couldn’t seem to think of any words to speak. Aline 
shook her head. 

“Yes, it will be all right.” Then there was a pause 
and they waited a minute in silence. They did not 
think to take a car. 

“I think he didn’t love Elisabeth Waagen — was sorry 
for her — it will be all right.” 

Aline shook her head. “I’ve spent the money. I 
got lost. I was poor and spent the money — after a long 
time. I always looked for him, till I loved you. And 
I never heard his name — just Christopher — and I didn’t 
want to find him any more after I loved you.” 

“It will be all right,” Johann repeated. 

“I’ve spent his money,” Aline said in turn, expressing 
her dominant thought. 

“That is all right,” he repeated. “He has seen you 
and doesn’t love you. It is all right.” Johann wasn’t 
thinking of the money, only of Christopher’s heart. 
“He loved that other woman — he was sick after she 
wouldn’t marry him. It is all right. We will go right 
to him,” he said, his Teutonic mind slowly righting 
itself. “We will go at once. It will be all right, my 
darling.” Aline drew her hand from his — they were talk- 
ing hand in hand. 

“No, I can’t go. Not to-night. I want to go home.” 
Johann stopped and looked at her. 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 153 


“I think we should go to Christopher/ ' he said, hesi- 
tating about what he should do. “ But no, if you want 
to go home, you shall go first — it is sudden to you. I 
know about it. You are to go home, and I will tell 
Christopher — and to-morrow we shall all be happy. 
More than before.” His tone was growing more assured. 
The surprise had thrown him out of his reckoning for 
the moment, but he was seeing things somewhat clearer ; 
or so he thought. Aline said nothing and they went to 
her boarding house where she still lived by teaching 
German to a few American children by some indefinite 
process. They seemed to learn at her hands, though 
neither they nor Aline understood how. Johann left 
her at her own door and turned toward Houston Street 
about the time that Drayton was ascending the stairs 
to Christopher's rooms. Johann walked down, simply 
forgetting to take a car. Before he got half-way home, 
he stopped in a beer place and sat down in a little back 
room to think it over. 

When Drayton started up the stairs, he had a fuller 
understanding of his place in life. 

“This is pretty bad,” he thought. “We fine beggars 
uptown do well to rail at life, when men like these have 
to stand such conditions. They are gentlemen and 
men of talents — not measured by the table d'hbte and 
the union”; Johann had been First Violin in Chris- 
topher's Viennese Symphony Orchestra. 

Drayton knocked, and a robust voice called “Come in.” 

Christopher sat in his shirt and drawers under a lamp 
with a broad green shade, which cast a fine circle of 
light upon his seat, in the middle of a small bench 
that had a sort of extension built from it. He sat 
astride that extension with a little dog perched upon the 
little platform between his knees. The bench and the 


IN HIGH PLACES 


154 

platform were of one piece and the contrivance was 
Christopher’s. 

His curling irons of different sizes were heated upon 
a gas stove which had a single burner, and the night 
being hot, Christopher turned down the gas each time 
he removed his iron. The stove was upon the same 
bench and was attached by tubing to the gas-jet above 
him. His chemicals for the harmless bleaching and 
dyeing of the dog’s hair were at hand upon a stand that 
contained numerous small drawers for the accommo- 
dation of Christopher’s appliances — combs, brushes, 
sponges, pans, etc. 

He was saying to a diminutive lap-dog when Drayton 
knocked: ‘‘If a leetle dog like you would haff a bark in 
you, mein Schatz /” and gently poked the aborted dog 
in the stomach, as if, perchance, he might set in motion 
some mechanism like that furnished to French dolls that 
say “Mama, Papa.” “That strange sound in you when 
you snap out some noise is a sad thing. If you could 
bark like a true dog, then maybe you would eat some 
bones’’ — and he sighed loudly. “Hey, it is not your 
fault. I think you would like to be a true dog mitout 
curls; yet it is a pleasure for me to comb der curls and 
to make you all the more ass you are. You seem to 
smile mit me, mein Schatz . Do you think yourself funny 
or are you in earnest mit yourself? Yes? JaV ’ And 
when Drayton entered, he was gently sponging the dog 
with some liquid from a little pan, deep and narrow and 
with a slight flange. 

“Well, mein friend?’’ he called inquiringly, over his 
shoulder. 

“I was afraid I should not find you,’’ Drayton said, 
standing in the middle of the room. Christopher turned 
on his bench and beheld his visitor. 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 155 


“ A-a-ch!” he cried, with a long drawn intonation of 
joy. ‘ ‘ A-a-ach, you have come at last ! I haff wondered 
and wondered if we should see you again.' ' He was 
up and standing with his great hands on Drayton's 
shoulders, and Drayton felt something oppressive slip from 
off him. The tone, the brilliant glance of Christopher's 
eye, the affection — Drayton was hardly calculated to 
meet with these things in such abundance just now, 
and he took a moment to steady himself. 

“How could I know that you were not on your 
vacation?" 

“ Ja f ja! On my vacation," and the German laughed 
uproariously. “When I vacation, it is to curl der dogs, 
to curl der dogs. This is good. This is fine ass neffer 
was! Now, mein Schatz — " he turned to lift the dog 
from the bench. 

“No," said Drayton, putting his hand on his arm. 
“You are brightening and curling. I have never seen 
you do it. I beg of you to go ahead. While you work, 
I’ll sit and watch and we can talk quite the same." 

“So? Then I will go on mit der dog. Sit there, 
mein friend, and der beer is in a leettle chest, mit ice. 
I will get it," and he went through the rooms with the 
light, resilient step of a woman, returning with bottles, 
cold as ice, and glasses. Then he pushed the tobacco 
jar toward Drayton and placed two new clay pipes beside 
it. Drayton looked about. All was as it had been, 
except that the blight of heat was upon all. There were 
no curtains, but green shades at the windows, and the 
paraphernalia of their occupation and profession was 
all about — violins, music, dog-baskets, and the like; 
and all was in the shadow, picturesquely outlined, with 
only the circle of light in which Christopher sat with 
the little dog. 


IN HIGH PLACES 


156 

“I had no idea there were enough fashionable dogs 
in town to keep the profession alive at this time of year.” 

“Oh, jat Some of der dogs — that one — come from 
der country to be brightened and curled just the same. 
But I am so glad you are here. Sit mit me, if I do not 
make you so bored as meinself. 

“I cannot believe you were ever bored in your life,” 
Drayton returned, studying the strong handsome face. 

“ Nein?” Christopher took his pipe from his mouth 
and looked around at Drayton with a peculiar smile. 
“But, mein friend — I am bored many times this last year 
— mit — mit life and meinself.” 

“Ah?” Drayton was interested, wishing to under- , 
stand the reason for the discrepancy between the man’s 
appearance of well-being and his statement. “Are you 
not playing as usual ? ” 

“Oh, I play no more at der table d’hote. I play at 
the theatre, in the season.” Drayton would make no 
inquiry. 

“Whose dog is it?” he asked casually. 

“Well,” he passed his hand through the dog’s hair. 

“ He is just Number Two, mein friend. I put a tag on 
him like to my umbrella at der theatre, and der woman 
hass a tag too — and der two tags go together, that is 
all.” 

“You like to shine them?” Drayton pressed the 
tobacco down into the pipe bowl with his little finger and 
struck a match. 

“/a. They are true animals, if not der true dogs. 
Ja. I wish I might respect der leettle dogs ass I loff 
them. I like to brighten them. They are not so foolish; 
der trouble is they know something, but not the right 
things like der true dogs — but I expect nothing of them, 
and so I don’t get myself disappointed.” 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 157 


“Do you clip their tails and cut their ears?” Dray- 
ton asked. 

“I? — cut der leettle dogs’ ears? Ach! mein lieber! 
I could cut nothing — I who am a soldier!” 

“No — were you a soldier, friend?” 

“Oh, ja. I am a soldier. Yes — yes, but I neffer 
killed nothing but once. Neffer. I think no one who 
must be a soldier could effer more kill something — not 
effen cut der ears.” 

Drayton leaned forward, regarding Christopher with 
a new interest. 

“As a soldier — did you never kill a man?” he asked 
in surprise. 

“Yes. I shall tell you. Ach! Once — one man just 
one time. I killed him when I wass a soldier: but I am 
sorry, I could not help meinself. I wass afraid always to 
fight effen mit my fists for fear I must hurt somebody; 
and in der war I wass so afraid that I always try to shoot 
up high because if I shoot ahead somebody would get 
hurt. But one time I must shoot up into der air, and 
I shoot a man in a tree. Ach ! Lieber Gott! It was 
awful. But I must shoot: I was in der war to shoot,” 
he offered explanatorily to Drayton. “I wass in der 
war to shoot some place all of der time; but however 
careful I am, at last I haff to hit a man in der tree. 
Gott in Himmel! It makes me mat at that man now — 
to get in der tree where he wass in der way of mein gun. 
I wass so mat I could always kill him offer again. But 
at der time my heart broke mit der sadness of it. I got 
meinself down by der tree and I put mein arms about 
him; but he wass one fool of a Frenchman mitout no 
German language, and he could not understand that I 
apologise mit him that I haff killed him.” Christopher 
waved his pipe in the air, and he had abandoned the 


IN HIGH PLACES 


158 

little dog. “I talk and put mein arms about him, but 
he just groaned, and der noise confused me so much I 
could not think mit my mind quick; till all in a minute 
I remembered me der ‘Wacht am Rhein’; and so I 
opened my mouth and I sang it all in his ear, so full of 
my heart as I could.” 

He paused and stroked the dog’s ears; he seemed to 
think upon his past. 

“And he ” 

“He said — ” Christopher paused. “He said ‘Go 
to hell, you damp Dutch fool,’ — and — he tied,” Chris- 
topher answered gravely, nodding at Drayton. 

“He may not have liked the tune,” suggested Dray- 
ton gently, a flood of amusement and yet of tenderness 
for the German upon him. 

“Maybe not,” Christopher answered thoughtfully. 
“Maybe not. I did not know much of der French 
language, but one understands something of all der 
languages a leettle, and after I come me here to America, 
I wass able to tell meinself what der Frenchman said. 
He said it in French vorts, but since I haff come here, 
I know he meant it in der American language. I haff 
remembered der tone. Ach y no. I could not cut der 
leettle dog’s ears,” and he smiled solemnly. 

“ Have you ever had any real unhappiness, Christo- 
pher?” Drayton asked after a time, after watching him 
gently comb out the soft feather of the little dog’s tail. 

Christopher put down his comb and leaned back, his 
hands upon his thighs and his eyes narrowed, remaining 
thus a moment. Then he took his pipe from his mouth 
and spoke slowly : 

“Yes — yes — I have, mein friend. I have — and I 
should not like to have Johann know.” 

“ Oh, I did not mean to ” 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 159 


“That is all right. That is all right. I know what 
you mean. It is ass one man to another — and I am 
glad to speak. I will tell you. Come, mein Schatz — you 
shall go to bed.” He put the dog in its basket, set the 
basket on the fire-escape and returned to the table, 
knocked the ashes from his pipe, refilled it and sat down, 
his hands clasped in the middle of the table, while he 
looked earnestly across at Drayton. 

“I am going to tell you. I cannot tell Johann, and 
there are some people who haff to tell things. I am one 
of them, you are another. 

“You haff asked me if I am at der table d’hbte and 
I tell you I am at der theatre — which tells you that I no 
longer play mit Hans.” 

“You have not ” 

“No, no. Nothing like that. It is like this: I 
played for two years at der table d’hote because mein 
Hans did not get some other job. I could have got der 
job at der theatre at the first. But I could not bear to 
play mitout him. Well, von time — ” he paused and be- 
gan again: “Von time Johann loffed someone and he 
did not know I — loffed ” 

“The same woman,” Drayton said, leaning upon the 
table. 

“/a. How did you know that?” Drayton nodded. 

“Go on.” 

“Well, Johann shall neffer know.” Drayton nodded 
again. “ Ach, I am glad to speak. Now there wass 
another one — a leettle eins antes Madchen in Kassel, 
Thuringia — and she wass mein niece and I wass pledged 
to marry her and I sent her money and she got herself 
lost, so that I haff never found her. Whep I knew that 
Johann wass to marry the leettle Aline, I felt myself 
sick for a while. I could no more play at der table 


i6o 


IN HIGH PLACES 


d’hote where I could see her and Johann, and so I went to 
der theatre, that, too, wass bad, because so I could no 
longer play mit mein Hans. But after all, I have made 
meinself live, mit cheerfulness not to sadden Johann 
and his Aline; because you see after all, there wass the 
poor einsames Madchen in Kassel who would need me. 
I made meinself cheerful. I am sometimes sad, but I 
am cheerful and I will find her, and when I have found 
her, I will be happy to make her happy — and that is 
all.” 

" You are living on the strength of something you will 
one day do for someone else; someone you have even 
never seen?” 

“ Oh, maybe — maybe! I haff never thought, only that 
I will be cheerful. But now I haff got nervous. I try 
effery way to find her, till I get all the day to think she 
will open the door — that Elisabeth! I go out and I 
think, 'She will be there when I get back,’ and I come 
home fast. I haff thought so much about it that now 
I think of nothing else but when she will get herself 
found.” As Christopher ceased speaking, there was a 
step on the stair, and he looked quickly at Drayton. 

"It is Johann,” he said, and Drayton nodded under- 
standing^. 

" He loffs to speak of his Aline. I must tell him I haff 
told you they will be married.” 

"You know what is best,” Drayton said, as Johann 
came in. The younger man had thought out the strange 
situation which had been discovered to him at the 
restaurant, and could see nothing but good in it, and 
had come home full of enthusiasm to give the news to 
Christopher; but when he opened the door and saw 
Drayton, he was a little taken back, and felt that he 
must reserve his news till he and Christopher were alone. 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 161 


After all, Elisabeth Waagen was partly Christopher’s 
business if she did happen to be Aline. While he was 
shaking hands with Drayton, Christopher made mat- 
ters easy by saying: 

“I haff just told Drayton about your Aline, mein 
Hans — he is glad.” Drayton signified that this was 
all true, and Christopher opened* a bottle of beer for 
Johann. 

“Ah, you are so happy ass, to-night,” he said with a 
short laugh. “It is all the time so,” he explained to 
Drayton. “Johann and his little Aline.” Johann and 
Drayton looked at each other. There had ever been a 
subtle understanding and sympathy between these two. 

“Is your Aline so happy as you, to-night?” 

“We are more happy than before,” he replied, think- 
ing of the good news he had for Christopher when 
Drayton should have gone. 

“You are to marry soon?” Drayton asked. 

“ I think more soon as before — before to-night.” 

“I should be immensely pleased to hear about it,” 
Drayton said encouragingly : it was obvious that Johann 
was happiest when he spoke of his love, and Drayton 
interpreted Christopher’s question to mean that he need 
feel no reserve on his account. 

“Maybe you have seen her at the table d’hote? — a 
little ” 

“ Einsames Madchen, mit beautiful hair, so brown and 
fine,” Christopher interrupted, dwelling upon his descrip- 
tion lovingly. Johann nodded. 

“And she lives in a little room by the table d’hdte.” 
The leash once slipped, Johann could not well change 
the subject. “The room is about so big,” indicating 
a square of about four feet by two, with separate motions 
of his arms. “ She is very poor and she teaches German. 


i 62 


IN HIGH PLACES 


But she hass not many pupils. She knows so little and 
ever will, of ways to do in America,. She is so simple as 
a little child. Her hair is very soft — sometimes she lets 
me stroke it.” Christopher meditated. Drayton glanced 
at him and he turned his eyes upon his pipe, regarding 
it steadily. 

“She has many pupils?” Drayton asked. 

“She thinks it not very nice to make them pay — 
because she says it is only natural to speak German. 
She feels that she is teaching lame people to walk: I do 
not know if she understands that the German language 
is not necessary to the whole world.” 

“She is right. It is,” Christopher remarked sen- 
tentiously. Johann looked with tenderness at his 
friend, and smiled. 

“Yes,” he answered placatively, “but she also feels 
maybe that the German language is the only language 
that it is necessary to know.” 

“It is,” Christopher again said, with finality. 

“Her hands are so beautiful, with a thumb so little — 
that always shuts in her palm — so.” He let his fingers 
close laxly over his thumb by way of illustration. 
Christopher gazed silently at him. Then after a moment : 

“Well, what do you haff for your dinner? I think 
in watching der leettle thumbs, you forget to feed 
her.” 

“No — Aline — she likes chicken in little mounds — 
fried — with sauce around them.” 

“Those are groquettes.” 

* 1 Y es — croquettes/ ’ Christopher frowned disapprov- 
ingly. “They are not goot for her ass soup.” 

“You think not?” Hans asked with quick-coming 
anxiety. 

“Nein .” 


HOW LOW-LIFE TOOK ITS TRAGEDIES 163 


“I will remember. She will like soup and beef best 
if I tell her to,” he answered simply, while Drayton 
observed the little pin-prick of pain enter Christopher's 
heart. Drayton was forgetting his troubles in watching 
these other human documents. 

‘‘When we get ourselves married, we will have a 
home, all light. There is a place far up in Harlem 
out by the country, over a milk shop, with a bakery 
next door, where we can keep house for seventeen 
dollars. It is beautiful. We will have a clock with 
a bird in it. It will be one dollar and a half with 
all its works on the outside.” Drayton heard 
Rosalie's voice — “Twelve thousand a year? Go away 
and be poor?” 

“She is strong and well?” he asked. 

“No, we will have somebody to do the washing. She 
can make bread with currants.” 

“You must not let her,” Christopher said aggressively. 
“ It is hard to punch der bread. You must buy it.” 

“I should loff to see her making it,” Johann an- 
swered, somewhat disconcertedly and with visible dis- 
appointment. 

“You shall buy it,” Christopher insisted loudly. 

“Well, well, we will buy it.” He never thought of 
contradicting Christopher's imperious moods. 

“That is right — and when I find der leettle einsatnes 
Elisabeth — ” Johann sprang up. 

“He knows?” he cried, motioning to Drayton. 

“Why, yes — ” Christopher began, and by now both 
he and Drayton had risen, there was something so 
patently happening. 

“When you have found Elisabeth you will be happy, 
Chris? You will be happy? 

“ Mein Gott , yes — why not?” 


164 


IN HIGH PLACES 


‘‘I haff found her, then. She is here. She is 
Aline, she is ” 

“I am sick mit mein — heart — ” Christopher cried, 
clutching his side and calling in an agonising voice ; and 
he fell upon the floor. 


CHAPTER X 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 

A ND now the summer had passed in some way. 

Drayton hardly knew how. Wolfschon had 
remarked in September that he had fallen off, and Dray- 
ton had continued to '‘fall off” ever since, till his cloth- 
ing had the appearance of being built for some other man. 
The strain of the International was still heavy upon him. 
One detail and another hung on and bothered him. As 
the finish drew in sight, Wolfschon ’s, Drayton’s and 
Stebbins’s anxiety became tremendous; but Stebbins 
was not especially touched by anything, excepting once 
when he had forgotten to ask for a transfer at the time 
he had paid his fare and then was refused it later. He 
hadn’t been able to get over that, and although it was 
some months before, he had spent much money in trying 
to get satisfaction and had not given it up yet. This 
was the quality which made Stebbins invaluable as a 
partner. 

Wolfschon had conditions for relaxation and compen- 
sation, his partner well knew from observation. Wolf- 
schon knew that if he became a truly poor man to-mor- 
row, he had sons to take affairs up where he left off, and 
wife and daughters to comfort him. Wolfschon was 
all right, Drayton thought; but if he, Drayton, fell by 
the wayside — he never let himself contemplate that: 
if he had, he must have gone out and hanged himself. 

All the season he had done the work of two men, and 
of one woman who had stood for several men. He had 

i 6 5 


i66 


IN HIGH PLACES 


worked with Wolfschon at the office in the night when 
all others had gone. He had been again and again to 
his house to dine, before and after Rebecca Wolfschon 
and the children had returned from the country; and 
those hours were perhaps the only tolerable ones he had 
known. He met Rosalie’s exorbitant bills, always 
cheered by the thought that he was able to give her 
pleasure, and half believing there was some in reserve for 
him on her return. Some way, after the night in 
Houston Street, he had been able to throw off his obses- 
sion of Jean Merideth. He had gone to Houston Street 
a few days after Johann’s revelation, because of Christo- 
pher’s sudden illness, the secret of which Drayton alone 
knew; but there he found things going badly. Christo- 
pher had insisted the day after the revelation, that 
Johann go to Aline ’s room and bring her at once to 
him, after which Johann and she were to marry im- 
mediately, the man’s affectionate purpose prevailing over 
his own serious condition: because, as a matter of fact, 
the difficulty with his heart which undue excitement had 
shown to exist in an otherwise robust man, was now to 
be considered seriously. 

Johann had gone for Aline, only to find that the girl 
had anticipated him by leaving, bag and baggage — the 
latter by no means excessive — and from that hour the 
men had found no trace of her. It was as if she had 
dropped out of the world. 

The situation was a complicated one to her in several 
ways: she loved Johann and she didn’t want to marry 
Christopher; more than that, she had spent Christopher’s 
money and had none with which to replace it, and the 
simplicity and directness of her thought did not qualify 
her to discuss the question. Hence, she avoided it* 

She could not be found. 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


167 




Drayton’s sympathy with his friends was very keen 
and he made what effort he could to help them. This 
had partly helped himself. Rosalie still wrote in her 
rosebud, trivial fashion about his affairs — what were 
they? and how terrible would she have found life that 
summer if she had continued to suffer in silence on 
Jean Merideth’s account! When she returned Drayton 
must tell her everything — how he did business and 
everything. 

Drayton smiled a little wistfully, as he read these 
inconsequent messages, and determined that when she 
returned she should find nothing lacking, if he could 
help it. 

She came in October. The Park had grown brown, 
and even bare in spots, and one entire morning Drayton 
had lain in bed, not knowing just why he did not get 
up, but feeling that he could not. Often at his office he 
had experienced such a necessity for sleep that he had 
resorted to all sorts of stimulants to keep himself going. 
When Rosalie saw him, she cried out: 

“Why, Trowbridge, what on earth has happened to 
you? You look abominably!” and her tone was 
resentful. “I’m sure I don’t see why you don’t take 
rest enough to keep yourself in condition,” and Dray- 
ton had turned the subject. 

He saw more of her than formerly immediately after 
her return home. The city was not yet in training and 
the social grind was slack, and Rosalie was possessed 
with a desire to be a part of Drayton’s life — “like Jean 
Merideth.” It was a lever she continually used in 
inducing him to speak of his affairs. As a fact the 
Van Vorsts very nearly threatened Rosalie with mania; 
and to understand finance, now somehow seemed to have 
become the dead-sure “ open sesame,” 


i68 


IN HIGH PLACES 


41 Why in the world do you want to bother your head 
with such things, Rosie? That little head couldn’t 
understand the least detail of it all.” 

“But I could try , Bridge,” she said, tenderly laying 
the cat on her bosom. “I love to hear those strange, 
downtown terms you use; you spoke of some copper 
things you were buying; something or other the other 
night when you and Mr. Wolfschon were in the other 
room ” 

“Madam,” he interjected, and he laughed; “Forget 
it,” he said, half earnest in his admonition. 

44 Why — you don’t trust me?” And Rosalie drew 
back from him with sudden tears. 

44 Nonsense! With my life!” Drayton felt smitten 
with remorse and self-accusation, and he drew her to 
him. 

44 Don’t — don't disturb him, Bridge — it would be 
cruel!” she interrupted. 

4 4 Surely I trust you, but that is something even 
Wolfschon and Stebbins and I are inclined to speak of 
in a whisper. Such dry-as-dust matters cannot interest 
you, sweetheart.” 

44 But they do — what’s a merger?” Drayton threw 
back his head and laughed. 

44 What’s a circular flounce, cut bias? That’s some- 
thing I overheard in your dressing-room the day before 
yesterday, when that French woman was in there meas- 
uring you.” 

Rosalie sat back and looked away, her lip quivering. 

“You don’t love me much, do you Bridge? No, no 
matter,” as he would have protested. “It is not so 
strange that I should love to know of these things which 
keep you away from me day and night.” 

44 But ” 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


169 


“But, I want nothing that you don’t care to give. 
I have longed to be a part of things. To help ” 

“Let’s talk about it, then,’’ said Drayton gently, 
smoothing her hair. They sat in her dressing-room 
again and an open fire was kindled which smelled and 
sounded like early fall. Rosalie was looking worried of 
late, and for a month past had seemed not to be in her 
usual health and spirits. Drayton briefly outlined in as 
simple a fashion as he could, something of his enterprises. 
She nodded and looked as puzzled as she really was. 

“But when you get all the copper, or whatever it is 
going to be, you won’t be — be a — miner — you and 
Mr. Wolfschon, will you?’’ She didn’t think so and 
laughed as she said it, but on the other hand, she had 
only the vaguest possible notion of what it would mean 
when the house should have consummated this great 
enterprise. 

Drayton laughed heartily. He loved her for her 
inconsequence. Some men are crippled thus. 

“No we shall not be precisely that: not carry picks, 
you know; but we have an idea that if we control enough 
of the copper output of the world, Drayton, Wolfschon 
and Stebbins should at least be able to pay for a set of 
wrought-iron gates for their wives now and then. Then,” 
he grew thoughtful, “there is more than these 
copper interests involved This matter adjusted prop- 
erly, and there will be an alliance with Baron Erleicher 
— which implies a very great many things — I can’t ex- 
plain that part. If we can do this the Baron will” — 
he ceased to speak while he watched the flame in the 
fireplace. 

“ Why do you have to work so hard just for that? If 
you want the mines, why don’t you just buy them? 
you’ve got the money, haven’t you?” 


170 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Ye-s. We’ve got the money and in this case we 
are trying pretty hard to buy it; we have been trying 
to buy that one for some time and now are going to 
do it — I — I don’t believe you could understand, 
Rosalie, but see here: suppose I owned the greatest 
copper mine in the world — the mine that held more than 
one-half of all the copper — so far as anybody knew ” 

'‘Well, I’d like that.” Drayton looked at her and 
laughed. 

‘‘Yes — then suppose I died ” 

Rosalie looked up at him speculatively. If Drayton 
was anticipating anything like a shadow upon her face, 
he failed to see it. 

‘‘And you had to look after the copper of that 
mine ” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she exclaimed, clasping her 
hands with anxiety. 

“Well — don’t worry about it — I’ll see of course, that 
you have nothing like that to disturb you. But just 
suppose — what would you do?” 

“I’d get — that man Stebbins or Mr. Wolfschon or — or 
— somebody to dig out the copper,” she suggested, 
looking at him for approval. 

“That is what Mrs. Heyse would do.” 

“Who is she?” 

“The widow who now owns the Ophrosis copper mine. 
But if you owned that mine there would be people — 
agents and others — who would like the job of ‘digging 
out that copper’ for you, and I am afraid Mrs. Heyse 
can’t know any better than you would, whether those 
who do the ‘digging’ play fair or not! Now, Drayton, 
Wolfschdn and Stebbins have been trying to convince 
her of this for some time. Trying to convince her that 
hard cash in the hand is worth a good deal of copper in 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


171 

the mine. Baron Erleicher represents these interests in 
Paris and we have all the other copper interests of America ; 
yet nothing that we have will do us any good, without 
the Heyse mine. We shall get that property. The 
affair is as good as consummated, and then the enterprise 
is complete. There ! do you understand the whole 
thing now?” He threw back his head and laughed at 
the bewilderment in her face. 

“No, I don’t understand it — but I can say all that 
just as if I did; I know I can ” 

“Well — you needn’t,’’ he said half gravely, half play- 
fully. “You may simply forget it. Not a group of men 
in a thousand keep their financial housekeeping as close 
and unified as Stebbins, Wolfschon and Drayton do, 
and in that, lies our power. This is the sort of enterprise 
that most folks would have to go to money markets for ; 
that is, they would not undertake it as a personal 
enterprise. There isn’t a house in the country that 
could command enough capital to swing this thing, 
outside of ourselves.’’ Drayton was by now forgetting 
Rosalie and canvassing the matter pretty thoroughly 
in his own mind. The enterprise had become the 
darling of the great house. 

“But some days you haven’t hardly any money at 
all, have you, Bridge?’’ Dray ton laughed shortly : “Not 
much to use, Rosalie; it’s there, but not to use.” 

“I’d rather have it to use , than to have it there” she 
said plaintively. “Never mind, go ahead. — Don’t dis- 
turb him,*’ she referred to the cat, “it would be cruel.” 

Again Drayton fell to thinking it out. Rosalie’s main 
idea was that it was a mighty nice thing to tell Henley ! — 
that Drayton had the money with which to do what no 
one else could — and Henley was making Ida Henley 
share an establishment with the Van Vorsts next season, 


172 


IN HIGH PLACES 


at Cowes! Yes, Bridge was good for something; he had 
more money than “any other House in the country.” 
The “House ” meant to Rosalie, Drayton, of course. She 
only tolerated Wolfschon and Stebbins. 

“ Well, if nobody has the money to buy it with ” 

“I didn’t say that; I said they hadn’t the money to 
swing the enterprise of consolidation! But it was 
useless to be explicit. You see if that Heyse mine 
had been acquired by a cut-throat — a man who wanted 
to checkmate us — our investments thus far would be — 
Oh, well! Now you understand it all. I mean that a 
man who owned that mine could make his terms about 
what he chose, and could control the enterprise while 
he sat in his rocking chair and watched the chu-chu pass. 
It would mean that we had paid for making his eternal 
fortune. You see?” She didn’t see — much; but she 
had a fixed idea that Drayton could buy and sell Henley, 
if Henley was an enormously rich man. That pleased 
her. It reminded her she hadn’t married a complete fool. 

“It’s the Ophrosis mine, and it’s now Mrs. Heyse’s, 
isn’t it?” she asked. Drayton nodded. 

“That is right; you have the whole thing now. The 
whole thing! So don’t say again that you are not in 
the secrets of the House.” 

“And that man in Paris” — Drayton looked at her 
abstractedly. 

“Baron something ” 

“Oh, Erleicher. U-m-m ! He represents the European 
interests.” Rosalie registered that name. She sighed 
deeply. She felt as if she were submerged — in some- 
thing — affairs of state or something. 

“Goodness,” she said. “I must remember all that 
and say it just that way. Anybody’d think I knew, 
wouldn’t he, Bridge?” She looked so dazed and 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


i73 


overwhelmed with a knowledge which she could not 
possibly assimilate, that Drayton smiled again. 

“You are not even to think of it again, Madam; much 
less ‘say it just like that,’ unless you want to become 
a beggar.” She laughed. “Remember you are to 
become a very silent partner in this concern, and in 
remembering what lore you have now acquired, you are 
to be entirely satisfied. Never a word of it ! you needn’t 
remember to repeat it even to me. Why, you wouldn’t 
be able to recall a word of it even now.” 

“Rebecca Wolfschon — that awful woman — can talk 
such things, can’t she? I heard you say she was a great 
help to that dreadful Wolfschon.” 

“Rebecca Wolfschon is different,” Drayton said 
earnestly. “She is a woman in a thousand. Wolf- 
schon is a fortunate man.” 

“What?” she said, and there was a harsh ring in her 
voice that impelled Drayton to look at her in surprise. 
He had never heard it before. 

“I was speaking of Wolfschon’s wife ” 

“You said she was very exceptional ” 

“Why, yes — and so she is. She is Wolfschon’s true 
partner — why — why, you are not jealous of — Rebecca 
Wolfschon, are you?” And Drayton began to study 
Rosalie from some new viewpoint. There was some 
quality that was hers, which seemed all unfamiliar to 

him. If there should come a day when ” 

“I love you so, Bridge, that I can’t bear to hear you 
say such things about other women.” Drayton smiled, 
but it all rang so strange in his ears that he did not 
feel the elation he had known the night she had 
demanded the dismissal of Jean Merideth. He jerked 
his shoulders once or twice: he felt as if he needed 
to be waked up. 


174 


IN HIGH PLACES 


After a week or two, he no longer saw much of Rosalie ; 
people were beginning to come back to town ; she received 
and was received and dined and gave dinners, and the 
Opera was coming on; and the holidays meant money, 
money, money. At the same time there was a new 
irritability and feverishness and worry about Rosalie, 
that gradually became noticeable to Drayton. One 
afternoon, upon coming home, he encountered Swaylling 
just leaving the house. Swaylling was not their regular 
physician. 

"Is anything wrong?" Drayton asked, feeling that 
there must be something very wrong indeed. 

"Nothing — nothing,” the very personable physician 
hastened to answer. "Mrs. Drayton has been overdoing 
somewhat: headache, indigestion — nothing of conse- 
quence if she follows my advice.” 

Within, Drayton found Rosalie unresponsive, morose. 

"I had to call him because Dr. Abbott wasn’t home,” 
was her explanation. Drayton was in the habit of 
accepting her statements for truth. 

When Christmas time came, he made but three pur- 
chases: one of them was some jewels for Rosalie, which 
he immediately had reset because they were not to her 
liking. 

On Christmas eve Drayton ate dinner at his house, in 
solitude: Rosalie and the Henleys and others were 
engaged together elsewhere. After dinner Drayton 
asked Bernie to get him a package from his rooms, and 
when it had been brought, he took a pipe and descended 
to the cellars. "And you had better go out and enjoy 
yourself,” he had said to Bernie. 

It was nearly nine o’clock and the Irishman who had 
charge of Drayton’s furnace, coming there three times a 
day, was at work below. Drryton entered the furnace 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


i75 


room and the men greeted each other, while Drayton 
seated himself upon the coal-bin. 

'‘I thought I’d have my smoke down here with you, 
Patrick, if you don’t mind,” he said, and started to fill 
his pipe. It was not his habit to smoke a pipe, except 
with Johann and Christopher. 

“Me smoke is niver done, sor, and ye’re as welcome 
to me furnace room, as I am meself.” 

“ I wish you’d let me try some of that tobacco of yours, 
if you don’t mind,” Drayton said, holding out his pipe. 
Patrick secretly wished it were as big as the furnace, 
that he might exercise the generosity which he felt. 
Then he brought a coal from a little charcoal fire which 
he kept for his own preference in a box of a stove. 

The men smoked up, and Patrick sat beside Drayton 
on the coal-bin. 

“Well,” said Drayton, “everybody is happy to-night, 
I suppose.” 

“I don’t know that, sor! Not ivrybody, I suspect. 
There’s my sister in Oirlandwid nine children — ” And 
he meditatively puffed. 

“Lord! she must be happy, every day in the week,” 
Drayton broke in earnestly. “Are they all little?” 

“Wid noine of thim, sor, they bayn’t all little — but 
there’s a good sprinklin’ av infancy around. But the 
food it do be takin’ to fill thim, and the clothes it be 
takin’ to kiver ’em ” 

“Yes. Yes. That’s so. But God! What an incen- 
tive for a man to work! I don’t believe we Americans 
with our ‘only child’ families, or none at all, know how 
to live. It seems to me the wrong people have the big 
families. Take a man like me, for instance; a man 
like myself should have a family of ten. I’ve been 
married fifteen years ” 


176 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Thot wud be runnin’ it rather dost, sor, Oi think,” 
the man answered seriously, and with a thoughtful look 
at Drayton. Drayton took his pipe from his mouth 
and reflected. 

“Yes, I suppose that’s so. How many ought a rich 
man to have, do you think?” 

“Well, sor, Oi should say foive was a decent bunch, if 
ye all had good health.” 

“Yes, I guess that’s so. Well, five for a rich man 
and none for a poor man ” 

“Pwhat?” Patrick took the pipe from his mouth 
and turned to look at Drayton, who felt that he had 
again made a mistake in judgment and experienced 
new concern. 

“You don’t agree with me?” 

“And why should ye be deprivin’ the poor man of 
pwhat little comfort he has, sor? If he can’t have 
money, he can have children. It’s about the only 
thing he can have that don’t be costin’ nothin’ but 
throuble.” 

“But there’s your sister in Ireland — ” The man 
stumped to the furnace and gently poked the fire. 

“Thrue — but she’ll sthruggle along — and she’s got 
thim and so she’s not so bad off, after all. I made an 
idle speech about her, sor.” 

“But it’s rich men like me who could do best by 
children.” Drayton was discussing a matter upon which 
he desired light; or at least, a sympathetic opinion. 

“I don’t know about that, sor. Ye have money; but 
there’s things that do be lackin’; my sister’s children 
are puddlin’ about beside their mother all day and 
gittin’ cuffed and encouraged; but a rich man’s children 
need inthroductions to their parents half the time 
I’ve noticed!” 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


177 


“Maybe you’re right,” said Drayton. “I don’t know 
that I ever did notice. It’s all wrong, and it needn’t 
be. I know one family in which that’s not true,” he said. 

“Well, thin they must have a dhrop av Irish or 
German in thim, sor,” said the man, puffing his pipe with 
conviction. 

“They have — German Jews.” 

Patrick nodded. “Do ye know, sor, me moind goes 
back on a night like this to a Christmas whin I was a 
kid — about as long as me leg,” he said, and from his 
perch on the coal-bin he opened the lower draught of 
the furnace with his foot. “We were all back in Mayo — 
and so poor, sor, that the very stones in the ground 
sthopped growin’. There had been blight on the 
praties and even men’s families sthopped increasin’ — 
because their faythers and mithers got so little to eat 
thet creation was clean discouraged. We no longer 
had the pig or the cow, and the family wor skin and 
bone ” 

Drayton listened as if to a fairy tale: he was an observ- 
ant man and knew much of the poverty and hardship 
there was in the world ; but when it sat next to him thus, 
and spoke, it was a new sensation, it bore a truer 
meaning. 

“But howiver poor ye get, it don’t seem to make any 
difference in your wishfulness whin Christmas comes. 
Me mither was thet put to it to make that Christmas 
different from ither days, that she sat croonin’ over the 
fire all the week, and niver went to bed. I remimber 
openin’ me eyes in the night durin’ that toime, and 
hearin’ her saying prayers and moanin’ till me heart 
felt that sthrange I could die. Me fayther jist sat 
wild-loike on the binch, an’ niver spoke to her or looked 
at us. He had done prayin’ and carin’; but mither 




1 7 8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


kep’ on in her droolin’ woman’s way, a-moanin’ it out 
av Fate loike. 

“Thet Christmas Eve, I woke in the middle av the 
night hungry as a fox; the rest av thim were so wore 
wid the gnawin’ av their insides they were shleepin’ 
almost in the arms av the blissid Virgin — and loike 
as not they’d wake up in thim. Whin I woke up, my 
mither was chis’lin’ away wid somethin’ in the dark. 
The moon was bright outside, and I could see her 
kneelin’ by the chimney, in the light that fell thrue the 
little square of windy. Fayther jist sat on the flure wid 
his head on his breast an’ his arms folded, and niver 
looked up or spoke. I was sort av dhreamin’ I guess — as 
if I wor floatin’ far away, out in that foine moonlight.” 
He paused and pulled at his pipe. 

“Whin the mornin’ came, the childer sat up in turn, 
and some av thim fell back agin, but mither wor sthandin’ 
by the bed. 

“ 4 A Merry Christmas,’ she wor sayin’ — ‘and the little 
Jaysus came to ye in the night.’ And sure, there on 
the flure war the four pieces av turf made into a stable; 
an’ there was a pratie thet she had been savin’ while 
watchin’ us all starve. And in the night she had got 
the pratie and had whittled out av it a sort av little 
Jaysus, and beside the sthructoor was burnin’ a bit av 
candle end, and a foine cross made av two brid crusts 
was sthuck in the top. And while we wor starvin’ she 
had been carryin’ the candle-end an’ the pratie an’ the 
two crusts about wid her, preparin’ to starve in iligance 
at last, if we hild out till Christmas. 

“Even fayther raised his head — just long enough 
to kiss me mither. Thin he lay down again — because 
the mither and fayther had had the worst av the starvin’ 
fur weeks, and felt less like the blissid Christmas than we 


WHEN A MAN’S MARRIED 


179 


did. Thet quare manger wid its quare, unnatural 
Jaysus in it an’ the flickerin’ bit of candle, an’ the cross, 
was somethin’ to live up to. Mither had saved the 
peelin’s and the scrapin’s left from makin’ thet Agger, 
and whin we had seen it and had felt the life in us again 
for one surprisin’ minute, mither handed out the peelin’s 
and the Agger, fair — a bit apiece — so thet we moight 
die wid some av the blissid day in our stomachs; and 
she put the turf on the fire, and it glowed a minute, 
and fayther — he got the cross. Fayther and mither fit 
as to who should have it, but my mither won. 

“ ‘Ye’ve borne the cross upon yer shoulders mun, 
and now ye shall end wid it in yer stomach ! ’ And thet’s 
how me fayther wore the cross at last — in his stomach; 
for befure the night, sor — before the Merry Christmas 
had wore off — the praist, two parishes off, came to the 
dure, wid food fur all, and for the Kellys down the road. 
But two av the Kellys were dead, and their share came 
back to us, God rest their souls! And thet night whin 
we kept Christmas round the hot praties, and fayther 
conschumin’ more av the cross in his stomach and mither 
lyin’ thet silent but smilin, on the bed while fayther 
fed her by spoonfuls — sor! It wor the most wonderful 
night in all County Mayo — and since thet day I’ve seen 
no toime so bad, thet the mimory av me mither’s 
Christmas couldn’t pull me thrue. She’s dead these 
many years — and fayther too — and wan of me brothers 
and two av me sisters — but while they lived, not wan of 
thim forgot, and ivery Christmas night — I here at me 
furnaces, wan av us sayin’ his prayers in praistly robes 
and wan pot-wrestlin’ in a rich man’s kitchen, and 
wan wid noine children in Oirland — we all remimber 
at the same toime; an’ I’m glad to be remimberin’ here 
to-night, in the prisiixce av a kind man like ye.” 


i8o 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Pat sat with his pipe between his fingers and his hands 
between his knees. He looked up at Drayton and 
smiled. Drayton’s face had reflected every tone of 
the man’s voice ; he suddenly aroused himself and 
knocked the ashes from his pipe. He stood a moment 
fiddling with the steam gauge of the furnace, and then 
turned briskly and held out his hand. 

4 ‘You are ‘The Fighting Race’ in more ways than 
one,” he said, trying to force a smile. “A Merry 
Christmas, Pat — and there’s a kind of something to 
remember this one by.” He pointed to the package 
he had deposited behind him in the coal-bin, turned 
and walked out of the cellar with a pleasantly profane 
blessing following him. Drayton went above with 
Clarke’s tale of “Kelly and Burke and Shea” roystering 
through his head, while Pat cut the string of the parcel 
and found a brown jumper and a pair of fur-lined gloves. 
Drayton had spent an hour in selecting them and in 
waiting for his change a week before. Down in the 
thumb of the right glove the man found a little wad of 
money tucked away. It was quite enough to square 
things for his sister and her nine for a year to come. 
Drayton had arranged it, and had tied up the bundle 
in his dressing-room: it looked as if he had. The man 
sat down again on the bin, with the things in his hands, 
and having shed no tears over his own memories, he 
shed some now for Drayton’s sake. 

“The man’s lonesome,” he said. “Bliss his soul!” 

Drayton walked up the stairs to his own apartments 
and Bernie being gone, he took from his dressing-case a 
small pearl pin: Bernie’s tastes were simple and excel- 
lent; and pinning it to a bank note, he went to his man’s 
room and stuck the combination to the cushion on the 
table. Bernie would know that Drayton had not sent 


WHEN A MAN'S MARRIED 


181 


another for the pin. Bernie would know that Drayton 
had given time and thought to its selection. Bernie 
was every inch a gentleman’s gentleman. 

After that, Drayton went down to his Box. He sat 
in his chair and leaned back idly. The house seemed 
very still, and his own Christmas affairs being completed, 
there was nothing to do but think. He thought of the 
Wolfschons. He would have gone round there but he 
felt shy and fearful of intrusion, although he knew that 
the Wolfschons and Christmas bore no relation to each 
other. However, it w~as a time of strictly family demon- 
stration, and Drayton did not wish to thrust himself 
into another's home on that night. He sat and thought 
it out as best he could. He had not arrived at any 
conclusion as to why there was so painful a dissonance 
made of his hope and experience, when suddenly the 
door opened as it had that night, months ago, when 
Rosalie had come to talk of the Kaiser’s luncheon, and 
Rosalie threw herself into his arms. 

She was in dinner gown and flushed and aromatic, 
and she clung to him, covering his face with caresses. 
Drayton held her to him, murmuring endearing words. 
There was no need to question her of her early and 
unexpected return from dinner. Rosalie, not the 
responsive, but the aggressive, was there. Drayton 
was simply glad. To have a wife was indeed a rare thing 
to Drayton. 

“I wanted to come home,” she said hysterically. 
“I wanted to come home. I’m so glad to find you. 
What if you had been gone ? ” And he lifted her in his arms 
and carried her up two flights of stairs, all unconscious 
of the burden of it. 

While Drayton stood with her in his arms she said 
hysterically: 


182 


IN HIGH PLACES 


'‘You must be a great deal stronger than Gib Henley.” 

“What?” Drayton stood her on her feet. 

She felt something wrong, and flushed with vexation 
that she should have revealed the direction in which her 
mind and emotions had been straying. Drayton stepped 
back and looked at her, felt a beating of blood in his ears, 
hurried down the hall, alone, and closed and locked 
the door of his dressing-room behind him. Drayton’s 
night had suddenly gone very black, indeed. 


CHAPTER XI 


WHEN A MAN COMES INTO HIS OWN 

T HE next morning Drayton sat in his room, unseeing, 
unknowing till Bernie came, since he had not 
been rung for, about ten o’clock. He gave one look 
in Drayton’s direction and went out again. But the 
noise had aroused him and he got up, and drew his own 
bath. After he had taken it, he rang for Bernie, and 
said: “Merry Christmas! Bernie.” Bernie said: 
“Thank you, sir,” and waited. 

“ I should like you to tell Fifine — or no, say directly to 
Mrs. Drayton that I wish to speak with her as soon as 
she has breakfasted.” Bernie went out and did not 
return. Drayton attended to his own toilet. 

Later, the valet came into the room without knocking 
and set a tray with a pot of coffee upon it beside Dray- 
ton’s morning paper. He placed the outfit at a far 
table, in order not to obtrude it upon Drayton’s knowl- 
edge in case he resented the service. Bernie wore the 
Christmas pin: it was no time to say anything. After 
a while Drayton drank the coffee and sat down. He 
sat thus for an hour, then he rang again and sent Bernie 
to see if Rosalie was about the house yet. Bernie 
returned with the news that she was at breakfast. 

“Go and say again to Mrs. Drayton that I wish to 
see her immediately after breakfast. I will come to her 
if she prefers.” Bernie went out again. And after 
fifteen minutes he came back to say that Rosalie was in 
her own apartments, where she had breakfasted, and 

183 


184 


IN HIGH PLACES 


would be glad to see Drayton. Drayton went. When 
he entered, Fifine was there. 

“Leave the room,” he said shortly, and the girl 
departed. 

Rosalie was lying on a divan reading the morning 
papers, and the cat lay on her bosom. She did not look 
quite natural of late ; when Drayton had expressed some 
anxiety about her and wished her to consult their regular 
physician, she had irritably refused. Now when Dray- 
ton entered, she smiled at him, but said nothing. 

“I would rather you put down those papers,” he said. 
She dropped the page and stared at him. “ What is the 
matter with you ? ” she asked. 

“What was in your mind last night ?” Drayton stood 
in front of the divan and looked down at her and the 
cat. His face was drawn and white. He looked neither 
handsome nor approachable. 

“What did I mean — what?” she said gently deposing 
the Persian and leaning on her elbow and frowning. 
“I don’t see why you talk to me like that.” 

“You said — you said something about Gib Henley — 
something personal. What did you mean by it ? ” 

“Good Heavens,” said Rosalie, lying back and taking 
up the paper. “I meant,” she said, indifferently, 
“since it is of so much importance, that I didn’t believe 
Gib Henley could carry anyone up the stairs as you 
carried me.” 

“Why should you have thought of him — then? There 
is something in the relation of ideas. There is a good 
deal in it. A man makes a fortune if he is astute enough 
to perceive the proper relation of ideas. Then why 
shouldn’t he look out for his honour after the same 
hypothesis?” 

“Your honour! You are crazy.” 


WHEN A MAN COMES INTO HIS OWN 185 


“The surer you act upon that notion, the better. I 
am just crazy enough to make it safer for you to speak 
the truth.’ ’ 

“Bridge — ” She rose: Rosalie was an intelligent 
woman in her small way ; just now she was afraid of him. 
“Bridge ” 

“Go ahead,” he said, uncompromisingly. “Tell all 
that is in your mind.” 

“There’s nothing in my mind.” She looked toward 
the inner room. 

“No matter about that French hussy. Speak!” 
She no longer knew him. He might have been the 
elemental man so far as she could discern. 

“My God, Bridge! Don’t talk like that. Don’t 
speak like that to me. I’ve done nothing that I ought 
not.” 

“Be careful to speak the truth,” he said; “because 
if I think you are lying, I am going to kill you.” Rosalie 
stood transfixed. Obviously, Drayton had thought it 
over, and was getting down to the bottom of things. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” she gasped. “I have done 
nothing wrong.” 

“That may be true,” he said, frowning and regarding 
her steadily. “Then I’ll tell you what was in your mind. 
You had been with the Henley s. The infernal cur 
had been trying to make a fool of you, and half suc- 
ceeded. Anyway he caused you to remember that you 
had a husband. You came home here and threw your- 
self into my arms. Such nights as last night was, have 
come sometimes in the years we have lived together, and 
I supposed they were the result of — of some thought of 
me; and it was not so. It is pursuit, pursuit that ap- 
peals to you. I believe — since I understand what has 
now happened — that through all of these years, if I 


i86 


IN HIGH PLACES 


could take the time, I might sit down and schedule the 
men with whom you have dined or to whom you have 
been near at the Opera or elsewhere, on the nights when 
you have come here and raised hell with me.” 

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t!” 

“That is all right,” he answered in the same, monot- 
onous, wicked voice. “That’s what you deserve. Do 
you know, if you were not my wife, just what you would 
be? I do. Probably you have never thought about 
the problem at all. I don’t have to. It is not love that 
inspires you, not kindness, not generous feeling — it is 
wantonness pure and simple ; and maybe if I were some- 
one else, I’d be satisfied with that, since you’re not 
unfaithful to me. Well, I’m not. No, I’m not! I 
know what you felt for Gibson Henley last night before 
you came home here. Probably he does not. Some- 
how, I believe you’ve told the truth — and have done 
nothing you ought not; according to conventions: I 
don’t believe you have enough blood in your veins to 
betray what you feel to the man who doesn’t belong to 
you. And I believe that’s the sort of woman I hate 
worst in the world. Well now, what do you propose?” 
He stood with his arms folded and still looking down at 
her. Her face was white and she had lost all power of 
protest. She muttered something. 

“I suppose you think me brutal. I am. At this 
moment I am just as near an approach to the man who 
beats his wife as I can get and not do it. My will is all 
right, but I can’t do it. What is it you propose for the 
future. I won’t live with you.” 

“Bridge!” she cried. And there was something in 
her voice that made Drayton chilly, “Bridge! I 
believe you have killed your child and me.” And 
Drayton sat down in a chair. 


CHAPTER XII 


WHEN A MAN PLANS 

S OMETHING was hanging fire about the Ophrosis 
mine. Mrs. Heyse had come to terms and then — 
had changed her mind. She had suddenly gone to Europe. 
Incidentally Henley had gone to Europe. He returned on 
the next steamer. However, Drayton was not worrying. 
Wolfschon said it was all right, and Drayton guessed it 
was. As a matter of fact, it was difficult for him to feel 
any heavy melancholy about anything, except about an 
hour for which he himself was responsible and which 
he would have blotted from memory at the cost of ten 
years of life if he could. 

The words he had spoken to Rosalie in her rooms on 
Christmas morning were with him sleeping or waking. 
At the office they rose between him and the most pressing 
business. In the night he left his bed, starting up in a 
sort of panic, and went to see if all was well with her. 
He had even waked her to ask her for the hundredth 
time to forgive — to forget if she could. That a man 
should have to recall such words between himself and 
the mother of his child was a horrible thought to him. 
He sought for an excuse for himself and found none. 
She forgave magnanimously, but he thought she could 
not forget. The grieved expression of her face, when 
he was forced by his conscience to refer to that moment, 
overwhelmed him. He continually planned how he 
should make up for it; how he should repay her for 
every tear, so far as devotion and labour could do it. 

187 


i88 


IN HIGH PLACES 


He thanked God she was in splendid health! If he had 
observed physical signs of his unaccountably brutal 
moment, he would have blown his brains out. But she 
was well. She loved to have Drayton ‘‘talk business” 
to her, and so he did it. She repeated phrases after him 
in the glibbest possible manner, and he smiled in spite 
of his efforts to appear dead serious. She appeared to 
get in her stops and half-stops, quite as if she understood 
what she was saying. He thought the situation had 
added to her peculiar ambitions — and for some reason 
they seemed less absurd to him than they had. He 
could certainly understand her desire to create the best 
possible conditions for their child. He thought of little 
else, night or day. An enormous expense had been added 
to that precious yacht, although it would, of course, 
be quite impossible for her to use it, at least in the spring 
when she had planned to. But it pleased her to know 
that it existed in all its glory, and it enabled her to say 
again and again, “ When I am well, and we go to Cowes — ” 
And at all other times she talked of the Van Vorsts. 

Sometimes Drayton thought he would take the time 
to go to Cowes with her whenever the time should be. 
Again, he thought: “ No, I shall stick to affairs as never 
before, if it be possible for me to confine myself to 
them more than in the past: there is something to live 
for now; something to hope for.” 

Wolfschon didn’t know about it yet, but he noticed 
a favourable difference in Drayton. Drayton meant to 
tell him some day when he felt up to it — or maybe it 
would be better to tell Rebecca Wolfschon. He didn’t 
know, he would see. He had talked to Pat. He went 
down into the furnace room almost every night lately, 
and they talked and talked. He was afraid of tiring 
Rosalie, who stayed in her apartments almost all of the 


WHEN A MAN PLANS 


189 


time; hence, he restrained himself when with her, and 
only discussed the matter casually, while she discussed 
the Van Vorsts. She must get in there now. Drayton 
could see that, couldn't he? 

Drayton found that Patrick had fairly fixed ideas 
about a boy, and Drayton was interested in everybody’s 
ideas that he could get hold of upon the subject. 

" I am sure I don't whether a boy is better off to grow 
up with the full understanding that he is free to follow 
his own healthy devices through life, without regard to 
expense, or that he has a practical work to do in the 
world; some money-getting to do on his own account," 
Drayton mused. 

"Well, I think, sor, that it's a good plan to have a 
bhoy by the leg, 'n if he must earn his livin', ye've got 
him — fur a toime." 

"I don't know, but I dare say it's true. Still, this 
money-making has pretty big drawbacks; and as for 
poverty — it isn't elevating nor is it the thing to develop 
character. It makes for but one thing in a man, and 
that is obstinacy. It does not even make for endurance. 
Pain and hurt and misery of any sort weaken a man, I 
know it. I may not have had poverty to wrestle with, 
but I've — had other distractions, like every other man — 
and they have done me no good." 

" But, sor, if life goes all a man’s way " 

"That isn’t exactly what I mean," Drayton explained 
thoughtfully. "It is like this: some people want what 
they shouldn't have, what no one should have. Some 
people have unnatural desires. They wish for excess 
in everything and that requires battle. Every time 
a man gives battle to his desire for the unnatural, the 
excessive, be it an unnatural taste that is mental or 
material or physical — every time a man wins out on 


IN HIGH PLACES 


190 

those lines, he is twice a man. It is like recovering 
from any other disease: getting a thing out of the sys- 
tem. It means moral force, superior to immoral in- 
clination. But poverty that means management beyond 
a certain point — ” Now Drayton had never had any 
personal experience with poverty, but he was the sort 
in whom logic was inborn or he wouldn’t have been suc- 
cessful in matters of finance wherein success implied 
anything more than luck ; and luck had nothing to do 
with the success of men like Drayton. “ Poverty that 
means management beyond a certain reasonable point is 
degradation,” he continued. “A man who is not to be 
blamed for his poverty is surely to be pitied. This notion 
that the pangs of poverty are a fine thing, ennobling to 
endure and all that, irritates me. The poor man has my 
unbounded sympathy. When one has to count his 
laundry and save a shirt in the week because he can’t 
afford the bill, it is unsanitary if nothing worse. When 
a man has the impulse to make another happy by the 
expenditure of money and can’t do it, that man’s 
noblest impulses are aborted. In time they will atrophy 
for want of action. If a man must work to pile up a 
fortune, he misses most of the beauties of life. And if 
a man has a wife, he’s bound to pile up the fortune — or 
cut his throat. Now I don’t want my son to have to do 
it. I — I don’t believe I could stand it to see him do it. 
I believe I prefer to make it for his wife — and leave him 
a chance to make her acquaintance. 

“It seems to me that a man’s biggest obstacle, to 
a wise administration in his own family, is him- 
self. I know, as a fair-minded man, whatever I may 
argue to the contrary, that it is proper for my son to 
work as other self-respecting American men work ; but as 
a man who knows the hell of nervousness and this 


WHEN A MAN PLANS 


191 

debilitating civilisation, I would give my life if that could 
get him immunity from it all, and I could know that 
he would suffer no moral hurt as a consequence. I should 
love best to make the money for him, and to see my 
son develop an artistic temperament — literature, or 
form, or colour, or something that would isolate him 
from the harsher things of life and still leave him with a 
purpose. But this seems like dictating to a Providence 
to which I am just now grovelling daily. Give me 
paternity and I’ll make no bargains with God, or what- 
ever it is that has the management of these things.” 

“Sometimes ye are out of me depth, sor, yit on the 
whole I follow you. But take me advice: take yer 
son ” — it was a foregone conclusion on the part of Dray- 
ton and Patrick that Drayton’s child was to be a son — 
“take yer son on to a farm. It’s the best thing in the 
world till a child has got a good bunch of health; and 
don’t teach him ony thing — not till he’s head and shoul- 
ders higher than most av these chaps as has tutor fellers 
to teach thim. If a child’s got good brains, he’s going 
to pick up all they can use as he goes along, fur quite a 
spell, and when he’s got his fair beginnin’s of growth, 
he’ll be getting, in six months, all that thim little cocks 
what have been bediviled since their seventh year, have 
been getting like ye’d stuff a goose to make it fat. If 
a bhoy hasn’t the brains to pick up all he needs to know 
befure he’s tin years old, then ye’ll kill him by trying to 
stuff him, anyhow. America’s a bloody bad place fur 
stuffin’ children — just look at yerself, sor — I’ll warrant 
ye were stuffed.” Drayton looked apologetic. 

“It’s wonderful ye iver got through it at all, I'm 
thinkin’, but if ye did pull through it most killed you — ” 
Drayton looked up interrogatively. “Ye’ll make, as a 
fayther, the wildcatest gineration a man iver saw — if 


192 


IN HIGH PLACES 


ye don’t take me advice. Ye are that high strung and 
excited wid living that suppressing yer nerves makes yer 
as dangerous to have in the house as a furnace widout 
a steam safety. If ye iver do go off, ye’ll go off like — 
like a volcano. Ye’re smoulderin’ like Vesuvius all the 
toime, sor.” He spoke with great earnestness and as 
if he had reflected on the subject of Drayton and his 
characteristics affectionately and with great particular- 
ity — which was quite true. 

“As for not wantin’ yer bhoy to work, there’s com- 
pinsations he’ll git out of work, sor, as would just make 
him say 'shucks!’ to the best you could do for him, if 
he’s any sort of bhoy at all, sor.” 

And, much impressed with Patrick’s advice, Drayton 
went up into Sullivan County — not having taken a day 
off before in ten years — personally to investigate a farm 
and to purchase it. Some way he couldn’t bring him- 
self to relegate the business to Rorke. For once the 
business was too near his heart. He could not explain 
to himself the peculiar happiness that he experienced up 
there those two days. He liked the place and bought 
it and told Patrick about it on his return, who reminded 
him that his son could not possibly profit by the arrange- 
ment for some little while yet. But it was a comfort to 
be engaged in something that related to the future of his 
best beloved. Oh, it was as the blood of his veins, as 
his heart-beats, his sight! Rosalie wished to go away, 
and he decided to have her go wherever she chose; but 
he hated the idea of having her out of his sight, out of 
reach even for a little time. She was very restless, 
however, and he determined to send her. She was in a 
strangely submissive mood. It smote him. He had 
rather she should laugh and have her wayward little 
moods, just as she used to have them. He supposed it 


WHEN A MAN PLANS 


I 93 


was because she was so happy that she was thus 
subdued. 

She seemed to think the South the thing, and he ar- 
ranged for her to go the next month. The place in the 
Adirondacks would be admirable for her next summer: 
quiet and restful, and Drayton decided to take time to 
be there. The International would then be successfully 
off his hands, and he could take time for pretty much 
what he would for the rest of his life. Thank God for 
such an inducement to “take time! ” Patrick had said 
to him only the night before: “Be sure you be takin’ 
toime for all the fatherin’ yer child needs, Mr. Drayton; 
it’s that that saves thim.” Really, it seemed to Dray- 
ton to be a terrific proposition — this matter of father- 
hood. But he would live up to it. He would meet 
every demand. He would do well, so help him God! 
He was so glad. 

“I believe I’ll pluck up courage to tell Wolfschon 
to-morrow,” he thought. “Then I’ll have someone to 
talk to here at home, and someone at the office.” To 
talk to Rosalie about the future seemed to make her 
nervous. 

“ Up there at that farm,” he recalled, “there is a small 
house on the upper end, where the boy and I can go off 
and have good times together, without opening up the 
main shack and having a lot of servants about. It 
seems to me we can have jolly times up there. Of 
course, not just now — but after a while, when he is eight 
or ten years old. Max Wolfschon is only fifteen and 
he and his father have devilish fine times off by them- 
themselves. Rebecca Wolfschon laughs about it — but 
maybe Rosalie would not quite like it. Of course, we 
won’t do anything she does not like. He must always 
regard his mother’s wishes first.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


WHEN A WOMAN PLANS 

R OSALIE went South within the following three 
weeks accompanied by the Persian in a pink- 
lined basket, and Drayton roved restlessly from house 
to office, from club to house: walked, drove a new mare 
on the Speedway — forced himself to, because he was 
running down. Wolfschon referred to his condition 
again and again. Drayton did not feel well, but he did 
not know that he was ill: he was happy. Perhaps he 
did not know how to accept happiness. Probably not, 
he had had so little of it. 

On a page that scheduled an apportionment of I. C. 
and S. S. stock, Drayton had wandered, and written. 
“I must cultivate a tranquil, even disposition. No 
matter what strain I am under outside the house, I must 
train myself to leave it behind when I am in the presence 
of my family. I fancy in order to do this and to do it 
well and completely, I need to begin soon enough to 
have it come natural; a man’s boy should never see 
his father — ” Something had disturbed him at that 
point, and Wolfschon had come in a little later — 
after the boy had handed the schedule to him at 
Drayton’s direction — and had stood in the doorway 
of Drayton’s office with the paper in his hand, 
looking from the schedule to Drayton and back 
again to the schedule. Then he had made the 
gallinaceous movement of his head, with its accom- 
panying cluck, and said: 


194 


WHEN A WOMAN PLANS 


i95 


“Iss there going to be another member of the virm, 
Drayton?” 

“How do you mean?” Drayton said, looking puzzled 
and leaning back in his chair. 

“Why,” and Wolfschon looked again at the schedule 
and then again at Drayton. 

“What’s the matter?” And he held out his hand for 
the paper. 

“Why — I guess it iss all right; but it should be put 
more — more formally — before the idea is presented to 
Steppins. Steppins has no feelings and no children.” 
Drayton looked over the paper, then he flushed and 
laughed. 

“I guess — ” he began, and Wolfschon shook his hand. 

“I guess it’s pretty fine,” he said. “Come on home 
with me for dinner, and we’ll tell Repecca. That’s fine ! 
Name him Isaac — that name safes more time than any 
other name I know. I thought Mrs. Drayton was out 
of town?” Wolfschon said interestedly. 

“She is — South. Her physician thought it better 
under the circumstances — not only the climate, but she 
is out of all the excitement of town ” 

“U-m-m,” Wolfschon answered, looking abstractedly 
at Drayton’s paper weight. “Iss the physician an 
American — or a Vrenchman?” 

“Oh yes, American — not our usual family man: my 
wife wanted to consult the Henleys’ physician; she and 
Henley’s wife are friends, and though I haven’t any 
especial confidence in him, I don’t believe she needs any 
especially skilful attention. And it pleased her, so I 
got him. Of course, our regular doctor is really looking 
after matters.” 

“Huh-huh!” said Wolfschon. “Well, I think home 
iss a pretty good place for a woman to be under dos 


196 


IN HIGH PLACES 


cirgomstances. But it iss nice and warm down South, 
and I guess it don’t matter.” 

Drayton looked up at Wolfschon. There was some- 
thing in Wolfschon’s tone that told of — Drayton didn’t 
know just what, but it caused him to look up. 

"You are very happy for this, Drayton, ain’t you? 
And your wife?” Wolfschon didn’t know much about 
Rosalie, but he had his ideas. 

"Happy? — Why — ” and Drayton stopped. 

"Yes, yes! Well, well, I’m glad! I’m glad!” And 
he shook his partner’s hand again. "Gome up to dinner. 
Now how about that arranchment with der Paris peoble? 
Did you cable them?” And Drayton’s domestic affairs 
were temporarily side-tracked. But afterward Wolf- 
schon and he frequently went up home together, and 
Wolfschon let Drayton talk; and when he ran down, 
Wolfschon generously said something to start him going 
again: for some reason the Jew wanted to take Drayton 
by the hand and comfort him. He never revealed this 
impulse to his partner; but once he said to Rebecca 
Wolfschon: 

"If — if anything should happen to disappoint Dray- 
ton about that, I don’t believe he could pull out of it: 
he’s not so well.” 

"Nothing can happen mit him,” Rebecca returned 
in her fine contralto, and looking inquiringly at Wolf- 
schon. "What could happen mit him, Louis?” 

"Well, I don’t know.” Whatever he thought about 
it, he did not formulate. 

Two weeks later, Drayton was about to leave the 
office when the boy brought him a telegram. He 
read it, then sat down suddenly and put his hand over 
his heart. 

"Louis Wolfschon,” he said, and the boy turned and 


WHEN A WOMAN PLANS 


197 


fled down the corridor: he had never before heard 
Wolfschon called Louis Wolfschon, but the manner in 
which he had just heard that name uttered made it 
assume a mighty importance ever afterward. 

“Mr. Drayton,” the boy said breathlessly, as he put 
his head inside Wolfschon’s door. Wolfschon turned 
round and stared at the boy, then without question he 
hurried down the corridor. Upon entering the room, 
he closed the door behind him and locked it. A single 
glance was enough to tell Wolfschon that something 
bad had happened to Drayton. 

“Well, Drayton, well?” he said, with nervous irri- 
tation. Wolfschon was more than ordinarily fond of 
him. He took the telegram from his hand, which rested 
quite nervelessly upon his desk, and read it carefully. 
“Well, now, all right, take it easy. She's ill! Well — 
well, then I guess you better hurry rite away.” 

“What — can happen? What can happen?” Drayton 
asked, jerkily, not looking at Wolfschon. 

“Well, my Gott! I don’t know — Nothing effer hap- 
pens to Repecca — but then, she isn’t an Amerigan.” 
And so strong was the instinct of paternity in Drayton, 
that at that moment he would have given half his life 
to have had Rebecca Wolfschon for his wife. Wolfschon 
rang the bell, and stood at the door to keep the boy from 
entering. Drayton did not seem to have much grip on 
present exigencies. 

“Get a cap for Mr. Drayton — and pe dampt quick! 
Now Drayton,” he said, and held his coat for him. 
“I’ll telephone for a ‘special’ while you are on the way 
to the station, and you’ll find it waiting for you. It’ll 
be all right — don’t worry. I tell you it’ll be all right — 
and I ought to know.” 

Drayton stood a moment looking about the room. 


198 


IN HIGH PLACES 


He had the habit of business upon him, in any cir- 
cumstances. 

“I ought to — ” he began, helplessly. 

“Nothing, nothing — Go on,” Wolfschon said, turn- 
ing him toward the door; and Drayton left the building 
like a man dreaming. The clerks looked after him as 
he passed through the room, and those who saw never 
forgot his face. 


CHAPTER XIV 


QUITE EN FAMILLE 

T HAT night Wolfschon and his wife sat in their 
common sitting-room and thought aloud. Wolf- 
schon was comfortable in a furred dressing-gown and 
Oriental slippers, and looked impressive and precisely 
what he was — the son of the Banker Baron, and a shrewd, 
powerful Jew, with an ancestry of shrewdness and power 
stretching back of him two hundred years. Rebecca 
Wolfschon looked what she was: the wife of just such a 
man, who thought with him — when not ahead of him, 
owing to her woman’s instinct — and a woman who 
accumulated tissue as Wolfschon did not, because she 
was perfectly well cared for, and had her business in 
life mapped out and nothing to interfere with its execu- 
tion. Her duties — which were synonymous with her 
pleasure — were to be Wolfschon’s other two-thirds, 
bear his children (and healthy ones) and teach them 
the faith of their fathers, which they were bound to love, if 
not especially to revere, because it was the ancestral faith. 

She sat, still resplendent in dinner gown: Wolfschon 
had brought a man home to dinner for commercial 
reasons, and Rebecca wore the jewel gifts of Wolfschon. 
She was imposing, swarthy, crisply curled, heavy 
browed, with several magnificent pendants to some old- 
fashioned and pretty nearly priceless earrings which she 
wore. Doubtless she was clean, but she didn’t look it. 
It was no fault of hers. One knew her to be groomed, 
however, upon looking at her finger nails. They were 
199 


200 


IN HIGH PLACES 


properly manicured, which settled all doubts as to her 
neck. The texture and pigmentation were misleading, 
that was all. 

“Well, well, I’m sorry. I’m awful sorry. I’m awful 
sorry ,” said Wolfschon with varying accents, and puffing 
his pipe and leaning his elbows on his chair-arms. 

“Maybe, Louis, it isn’t so,’’ Rebecca Wolfschon said. 
She had sat down to talk without removing her dinner 
gown, because Wolfschon had started on the theme of 
conversation as soon as their guest had departed, and 
she had become too much interested to change her attire 
for something characteristically slovenly. Wolfschon 
had shucked his dress clothes, however, as he talked: 
smoking and walking from sitting-room to dressing- 
room, while things dropped from off him in sundry 
places, and Rebecca Wolfschon followed abstractedly 
after and picked them up. 

“ Well, it iss so,’’ he said, with a movement of his head. 
“I’ll get a telegram in the morning. Drayton will wire 
me. By Gott! I wish I were with him.’’ Wolfschon 
was deeply moved, and spoke emphatically. “If that 
voman wass my vife ’’ 

“Well?’’ — Rebecca Wolfschon asked. 

“I’d kill her.’’ 

“No you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t know any more 
about it than Mr. Drayton does ” 

“Well, Repecca, you try it — and see.” 

“Louis, you’re foolish! I tell you you don’t know 
anything about it. We don’t know der woman. I don’t 
belief any woman who wass not grazy would do ligue 
that.” Her speech reflected a former generation as she 
became earnest. 

“Amerigan women are all crazy. I wouldn’t marry 
an Amerigan woman ” 


QUITE EN FAMILLE 


201 


“Not while I liff,” Rebecca Wolfschon interrupted 
briskly. “I don’t ligue you to talk about women ligue 
that, Louis. You men think you know and you know — 

and you make half the time a mistake ” 

“Well, I’ll just tell Drayton what I think if he don’t 
already find out for himself.’’ 

“You won’t tell Mr. Drayton anything on your 
mind. I tell you dot now. Dot man hass enough 
trouble, if you think right, mitout you shove it along. If 
he didn’t know, and it ain’t so, you geep your thoughts 
mit yourself. What iss it your business, Louis, what- 
ever she has done ’’ 

“Well, I don’t know. I’m a husband — and it iss 
the business of husbands to stigue together. I’m not 
regarting Drayton as a man, but as a husband. I’m 
not regarting Drayton’s troubles as a man would, but 
I am regarting them as a husband would.’’ 

“Well, as a husband, you better advise mit me, 
Louis — and I tell you not to speak to Mr. Drayton about 
such matters.’’ 

“I regart these things as a matter of conscience ’’ 

“You advise mit me, and regard it as a matter of 
good sense to mind your business.’’ 

“I belief, Repecca, you don’t think it iss awful ’’ 

“I think you are awful foolish, Louis. You act shust 
ligue a young man. I don’t want anything to do mit 
Mrs. Drayton — unless it wass good for Mr. Drayton — and 

I guess she don’t want anything to do mit me; and ” 

But Wolfschon felt the need of antagonism: 

“I tell you, Repecca, I don’t like your attitude; I 

don’t know what I think ’’ 

“Now, Louis, I tell you what you think. You think 
of those ten chiltren I have had for you, and you will 
feel better.’’ And Rebecca Wolfschon leaned as far 


202 


IN HIGH PLACES 


back in her chair as her size would permit her to, and 
looked smilingly into the fire. Wolfschon was half 
way across the room with his hands in his pockets, work- 
ing his head on its axis, and clucking in a manner that 
would have given cause for anxiety to one unfamiliar 
with the process; but when his wife spoke, he paused, 
turned and looked at her, and presently came back to 
the fire. 

“Yes — that iss so, Repecca.” And Wolfschon put 
his hand on her shoulder. She nodded pleasantly at 
the fire. “I guess you are a bretty goot wife, Rebecca.” 

“Yes,” she said, “I guess I am. I guess you are a 
pretty goot husband, Louis: you suit me!” 

“Repecca, I am going to get you dose emeraldts that 
Henley's wife wantet, as soon as the International is 
settled. I think you vill look nice in them.” 

“I think you are a good man, Louis — and when you 
fail, we can start again on the emeraldts.” 

“That iss right — but I don't think we fail, Repecca — 
effer! I think Maxie will gome into the business, just 
as it iss. And I think he had better begin soon. Maxie 
iss fifteen, and he can learn a lot of things. He will 
go to college just to learn the methods of thought — that 
iss all ; after he has learned how to think, he must acquire 
what he wants outside, and he must begin business. 
Solly will need a post-graduate course — and then, after 
that, all he can get besides. I don't like that tudor he 
hass now, Repecca, and you had better look out for 
another von. I talked to him — I talked to him — and 
he does not know too much! I would pay more to the 
tudor, and less to that dampt chauffeur. I guess I won't 
pust up without him, any more than I shall with him. 
I don't like him!” 

“I ligue you, Louis,” Rebecca said, putting out her 


QUITE EN FAMILLE 


203 


hand, and finding Wolfschon’s without looking at him. 
Wolfschon’s hand met hers. 

For a moment he did not say anything, then he carried 
the dark, heavy, barbarically ringed hand to his lips 
and kissed it. 

“I guess we loff each other,” he said kindly. “I 
am glad ve are not Drayton. By Gott! I’m glad!” 


CHAPTER XV 


WHEN A MAN SEES 

W HEN Drayton reappeared at his office, two weeks 
after he had left it to answer the summons from 
the South, all the discreet employees avoided looking at 
him as much as possible. Wolfschon had gone into his 
room on the morning of his return, hearing from the 
boy that Drayton was there, and had simply glanced at 
him as he bent over him at his desk, while he discussed 
some bit of business that Wolfschon had made as an ex- 
cuse for approaching him. Drayton had spoken in his 
usual business-like manner, and had not referred to his 
absence in any way, or to what had taken place when 
he had been gone. He had looked up into Wolfschon’s 
face once while they talked, and then Wolfschon had 
looked at something else. When Wolfschon had left 
the room he had stood in his own and said, with a pre- 
liminary cluck, “Py Gott!” As a matter of fact, 
Drayton looked as if he and the things of this life had 
parted company. 

At home, Rosalie was only convalescent as yet. 
Drayton had found her dying, he thought, and the 
physician thought so too. The Henley’s physician had 
been staying in the vicinity — a place to which Northern- 
ers resorted at that time of the year — and thus he, instead 
of the family physician, had had charge of Rosalie. As 
it was, Drayton was very grateful that the Henleys’ 
physician had happened to be within summoning 
distance. 


204 


WHEN A MAN SEES 


205 


If devotion could save a woman’s life, it Was 
certain that Rosalie would recover. The doctor 
did not leave the house for many days. After the danger 
was passed, Drayton, who had roamed the place like a 
ghost, asked the man a question that had been haunting 
him since the moment of his arrival, when he had learned 
the true, or at any rate, the state of affairs. 

“I want you to come into my apartments when you 
can,” Drayton had said to him, and then had retired 
there one night immediately after dinner. When the 
doctor entered, Drayton was sitting with his elbows 
on his knees, and his head in his hands. 

“Sit down, please,” he said. 

“You need something done for you,” Swaylling had 
said, looking critically at Drayton. 

“I’m all right,” Drayton had responded. “I want to 

ask you a question. I want to know ” He paused, 

and lifted and dropped his shoulders. “I wanted to 
know — if a man — if a woman had had any considerable 
shock — say two months ago — my wife, for instance — if 
— if it might be responsible for — what has happened.” 

Drayton sat up straight and stared at the doctor. 

“Er — well — you know women are extremely — er — 
sensitive” — he dusted his hands with his pocket 
handkerchief — “sensitive, that is ” 

“Well,” said Drayton, “I know that. What I am 
asking is, if a woman, receiving a shock two months ago, 
might — might ’ ’ 

“Oh, certainly, I think she might,” Swaylling 
replied promptly and gravely. “I really think she 
might.” 

“Well, do you know ?” Drayton asked, insistently. 
He did not like Swaylling, though he was grateful to 
him: he had saved Rosalie’s life. 


206 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Oh yes — yes — you may depend on it.” Drayton 
looked at him. 

“All right,” he said. “That’s all.” The doctor 
regarded Drayton furtively for a moment, then as 
he turned to the window, the doctor left the room. 
Drayton stood at the window while the dusk fell. 

“Oh God!” he said. “Oh God! I did it. I did it.” 
Yet a foul, persistent thought, even in the same moment 
came to stay with him. 

Rosalie might very nearly have lost her life, but 
Drayton was getting the worst of it. After that he grew 
silent, and people about the place saw little of him. He 
sat with Rosalie frequently, while she lay with the 
Persian on her arm beside her. All at once the sight 
of the tolerant cat sickened him utterly, but he kept it 
to himself. After he had had the conversation with 
Swaylling, Rosalie’s attitude seemed to be that of 
magnanimity, though she had said nothing on the subject 
that was ever in Drayton’s mind — either in some co- 
herent form in his waking hours, or visiting him in some 
distorted shape in half-sleep. Swaylling had enjoined 
Drayton to encourage Rosalie in thinking upon extra- 
neous things; to guard against introspection. 

“Such a disappointment is very great to a woman,” 
he had said, dusting his hands. Drayton slowly turned 
his eyes upon him. The dark new thought crept into his 
heart. It shamed him. He resented the vagaries of his 
own fair mind. “It is necessary that her mind should be 
distracted and kept from dwelling upon the event as 
much as possible,” Swaylling suggested, “and I should 
advise” — and Drayton wondered vaguely if he were going 
to advise Cowes; but instead he wound up with: 

“I should advise that you encourage the fancy that 
seems most strongly to possess her.” 


WHEN A MAN SEES 


207 


“Yes,” said Drayton, idly thinking of the Van Vorsts; 
and as Rosalie wanted to go home, she had gone, accom- 
panied by the Persian in a yellow-lined basket. Once 
there, she began to recover, not too quickly, but reason- 
ably. As she grew stronger, she began once more to 
think of the plans that had been abandoned in the winter. 

“I suppose I might as well go to Cowes, since there 
is nothing else,” she said one day. She was fragile and 
pale still, and his healthy thought battled, and for the 
moment won, against the ghost that haunted him. He 
became even more tender and indulgent. His grief he 
kept to himself. There had been no sign between him 
and any other — not even between him and Wolfschon — 
only except Pat. One night after dinner, soon after 
their return home, Drayton had gone to the furnace 
room and said: “ Good evening, Pat.” And he had then 
sat down on the coalbin and idly watched while Pat 
changed the draughts. The man had not answered at 
the moment. He finished his occupation, took his pipe 
from between his teeth, furtively poked the fire, wiped 
his hand carefully upon his overalls and held it out to 
Drayton who took it. Patrick's hand closed over his. 

“We'll have many a foine talk now, Mr. Drayton. 
How Oi've missed ye!” It was to Drayton his welcome 
home — the only one he had. It was strange that even 
the servants seemed — But Drayton was growing morbid, 
and maybe it was not so. 

As the spring campaign seemed once more to be pos- 
sible of contemplation, and was so near at hand, Rosalie 
began to recover more rapidly. She once more blos- 
somed before Drayton's eyes. He tried to recuperate 
with her. He braced and braced. He was working 
like a madman. Rosalie's new activity made extor- 
tionate demands upon him. He seldom returned home 


208 


IN HIGH PLACES 


before midnight, now. Things were not just as they 
had expected them to be: just as they had every 
reason to expect them to be. Wolfschon worried. 
Stebbins was still more or less serene in his own judg- 
ment. The transfers must take place and the adjust- 
ments with Baron Erleicher be made within two weeks. 
Mrs. Heyse seemed to play fast and loose in a peculiar 
way since it was certain she had meant to sell and had 
been satisfied with the D., W. & S. proposition. 

‘‘It’s as if she was holding off for something, and if 
she is I don’t see why she doesn’t make her demand.” 

“Why Lord! what is there to demand. We’ve met 
everything.” Drayton had said. 

“I suppose she holds off simply because she’s a wo- 
man,” Stebbins had growled. “ But yet she has com- 
petent men to advise her.” 

If nothing further aborted their plans, however, the 
enterprise with which the men had concerned themselves 
for several years, was certain to end favourably within 
a few days. Mrs. Heyse had apparently come to reason. 
Until a month before there had not been the slightest 
sense of insecurity in anybody’s mind. Then just as the 
men were feeling at ease again, Henley suddenly went to 
Europe a second time and they couldn’t seem to get any 
satisfaction out of Mrs. Heyse ’s men of business. They 
had to wait for Mrs. Heyse, that was all. Then with 
the whole enterprise thus seriously threatened, it seemed 
necessary that Stebbins go abroad and find out more 
precisely how matters stood. 

Stebbins’s presence was required there. He sailed on 
a Saturday. The following Thursday Rosalie, who was 
in the bustle of departure, whose days were spent with 
milliners and with everybody else whose business in 
life it was to make women spend money, laid before 


WHEN A MAN SEES 


209 


Drayton some extensive new plans in relation to the 
Imperial yacht races at Cowes. 

“Very well,” Dra-yton had said. “There is no reason 
that I know of, why you should not do this; unless 
the world falls next week.” 

“How do you mean, Bridge? Can't I do it?” 

“I haven't a doubt that you can. Only you must 
wait a few days for a decisive answer. It is only a 
matter of form — asking you to be a little patient. I 
could undertake the expense, enormous as it will be, 
to-day; but that would be assuming certain conditions 
already to exist. I suppose they do, to all intents and 
purposes: Wolfschon had those emeralds and other things 
sent over to-day, and Wolfschon is a conservative man. 
However, you must wait a few days, till I hear from 

Paris. You may count on it, but ” He seemed 

to be talking against time, or Fate, or something that 
worried him. 

“Well, don’t let me worry about it any longer than you 
can help, Bridge. With all I have gone through this 
spring, I can’t stand things. I’ve got Mrs. Van Vorst’s 

dressmaker to ” and Drayton hadn’t assimilated 

the rest. 

Drayton put his hand on her. He felt as guilty 
as possible, but was doing as well as he could. He was 
trying to throttle his ghost of a thought that would come, 
whenever he looked upon her. 

On the following Sunday he went into Rosalie’s 
rooms at one o’clock in the morning. She had gone to 
bed, but stirred upon his entrance, which was exceed- 
ingly quiet. 

“If you are awake, Rosalie — I came to tell you that 
in all probability you can know on Monday about taking 
the place at Southsea you want. That was all.” 


210 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“I must have it, Bridge. I must have it.” 

“I think so — beyond a doubt,” he said, and gently 
closed the door. 

As he had stood in the half light, with his light overcoat 
on and his hat still in his hand, just as he had come in 
from the street, Rosalie thought how he had fallen off. 
He could hardly be called handsome any more. Well, 
he was not going to Cowes with her anyway, and maybe 
by the time she got back he would have got himself into 
better form. It irritated her and she turned over and 
shunted her line of thought. 

They had received a cable that day from Stebbins 
which told them he had arrived on the anxious ground, 
and in all probability there would be something accom- 
plished over Sunday. Wolfschon had gone home early. 
When they received Stebbins’s cable, both men felt that 
there was nothing to do till they had heard more. 
The business routine which they directed could be left 
somewhat to itself. Anyway, it would have to be that 
day, so far as the two men were concerned: both were too 
nervously irritated to handle affairs as usual. Wolf- 
schon had left the building early. He had gone home 
to Rebecca. 

“Well, Louis?” she had said. “I guess we will go 
to a theatre or something, if there iss something to go 
to, eh?” 

“Veil,” he said, and they had started; but at the 
door Wolfschon had said: 

“How would it do to rite like the defffe, Repecca, in 
that new machine? Idt seems to me I’d like it.” 

“ It’s the same mit me,” she answered. “ Send for it, 
Louis.” And they had gone out into the country, and 
Wolfschon had got the spring freshness in his face, and 
they had returned comforted. Rebecca had made plain 


WHEN A MAN SEES 


21 I 


to him all the possibilities of a more resplendent future 
than the International had ever presented to him in his 
finest flights. 

Drayton had left two hours later than Wolfschon: 
he could not endure the thought of going home. There, 
he felt he should stifle. After a while he had walked 
uptown; but at eight o’clock that night he had driven 
down to the offices again in a hired cab, and let him- 
self in, and had remained there till eleven o’clock. Then 
he had gone home and paused at Rosalie’s door to 
reassure her. 

On Monday there was no news from Stebbins. Rosalie 
assailed Drayton at two o’clock Tuesday morning, when 
she came in and dropped into a chair in his dressing-room, 
demanding he give her some sort of assurance that 
she was not to be disappointed. 

Drayton looked at her abstractedly and put out his 
hand to smooth her hair. He did not answer: he had 
hardly heard her. She removed herself from his caresses 
impatiently, and went away. 

The next morning he did not see her. At ten o’clock 
he was in his office. Wolfschon was there. The two 
men did not refer to the subject uppermost in the minds 
of both, but Drayton put his head inside Wolfschon’s 
room as he passed, and nodded. Wolfschon after a 
while wandered over into Drayton’s room, stood at 
the window and sat down a minute, and then wandered 
out. At five minutes of twelve the boy banged the 
door, returned, reclosed it gently, and handed Drayton 
a cablegram. He held it for a moment before opening 
it. For some reason he saw nothing but Rosalie’s face. 
Then he opened it. Then he wrote underneath it a 
translation of the cypher, and presently he rang his bell. 

“ Mr. Wolfschon,” he said quietly to the boy. Pres- 


212 


IN HIGH PLACES 


ently Wolfschon was with him. Drayton held out the 
cable to him. Wolfschon read it. 

‘‘Henley has ruined us,” it said. 

Wolfschon studied it a moment, then laid it carefully 
down and made the little click in his throat. 

“Veil,” he said, “I’m going home,” and he turned 
and went out. After a while Drayton went away. He, 
too, was going home. He learned that Rosalie was out 
when he arrived; somewhere at luncheon. He went into 
the Box and settled himself to making certain calcula- 
tions. They didn’t come out, and he tried again. After 
an hour he rang for something to drink. Bernie brought 
sherry and angostura: he wondered how it would do 
to introduce a mild knock-out drop. It seemed to him 
that that was what Drayton needed, although he was 
very quiet, and to a superficial observer, not unduly 
nervous. But Bernie was not a superficial observer 
and he had caught the light in Drayton’s eyes when he 
looked up. Drayton told him to let him know when 
Rosalie arrived. About half-past four she came in. 
She entered expectantly, and came over to where 
Drayton was sitting at his desk. 

“Oh, tell me, Trowbridge! that place at Southsea — I 
may? Say I may.” 

“The fact is, Rosalie — things have not gone well 
with me.” 

“Oh dear!” she said impatiently. “Well, I’m sorry, 
Trowbridge, but what I’m so anxious about is, if I may 
have it pulled to pieces, and enough men to work on it 
right away? I can manage by ” 

“ I fancy you do not quite understand,” he interrupted, 
speaking somewhat measuredly. “That will not be 
possible — not now. In fact” — He paused. 

“Well!” she said ominously. “Well, go on.” 


WHEN A MAN SEES 


213 


“ In fact, the Cowes campaign — will have to be given 
up.” She had been sitting, and now she rose. ”1 am 
a ruined man,” Drayton finished and looked at her: 
because she happened to be in the direct line of his 
vision. 

“You mean ” 

“I mean that I had thought to double my fortune — 
which meant a very large fortune indeed; while as a 
matter of fact, I have lost not simply in money, but I 
shall have lost so in prestige and credit, that we are 
likely to be poor people: that is, it will mean poverty 
to you. In fact, it will be poverty — for such as we.” 

“What has happened?” she said, in a harsh voice. 

“It would be impossible to explain it to you. You 
could not understand. Gibson Henley has found out 
our plans and has prevented certain transfers taking 
^place. God knows how he found them out! — But it 
is true, and ” 

“He has done what you meant to do” — She turned 
upon him excitedly, her eyes flaming. 

“That's about it. I cannot imagine how he found 
out ” 

“You fool! ” she cried, “you fool! I told him. Didn’t 
you tell me things — that I couldn’t understand — about 
that Heyse thing — and he wanted to have me learn about 
business; said it would help me with the Van Vorsts 
and people who are interested in those things ; and I told 
all I could remember — and — you fool!” 

She could no longer articulate. Drayton thought 
she or he had gone mad. He leaned forward to look at 
her. Fearful words rushed to his lips, but he remem- 
bered another moment for which he had paid with what 
had meant more than life to him — and that very moment 
the horrid ghost-thought that had pursued him, began 


214 


IN HIGH PLACES 


to close in on him. He tried to elude it. He sat with 
his hands clenched on the table in front of him. 

'‘You told Gibson Henley? I understand Stebbins’s 
cable now. You told Gibson Henley and he under- 
mined us! The Heyses held off, waiting for him to 
gather himself for this tremendous coup. You are 
mad!” he said. 

“Mad! I say you are a fool. What did you tell me 
for? If you had had the ability of Gibson Henley you 
would have done what he has done. My God! I can’t 
bear to look at you. I hate you. When I think of how 
you have let my hopes slip away — this campaign against 
Henley's — when I think — when — ” she seemed to suf- 
focate with a rush of futile words. “ Oh,” she said, and 
“Oh!” and clasped her hands to her throat. “You, 
with your wonderful superior knowledge — too profound 
for me to understand! You! You! — ” And looking 
into Drayton's eyes, something stopped her. The ghost- 
thought that had pursued closed in upon him: he knew 
her for a monster. He was standing up and swaying 
backward and forward, was chucking his fist into the 
hollow of his other hand, and the veins in his neck 
swelled. Suddenly he drew back and then struck out 
at her; but the light in his eyes had warned her and she 
suddenly ceased to speak, and threw herself back against 
the table. If he had landed, he would have killed her. 
The lunge brought him to his senses. 

He ran his hand through his hair and stood staring 
at her. 

“You — ” and then he stopped. While he stood there 
looking at her, she threw herself upon him in a fearful 
paroxysm of fright and grief. She called to him, she 
clung to him, while Drayton stood motionless, not seeing, 
not hearing. 


WHEN A MAN SEES 


215 


44 Oh my God, don’t hurt me! I am sorry. I’ve 
ruined us. I can’t do anything about it. Don’t say 
again you won’t live with me. What could I do ? Don’t 
stand like that. Don’t! Don’t let me be poor. I 
can’t stand it. It would kill me. Oh, Bridge, oh — ” 
And after a time she sank down upon the floor, 
exhausted, shaken with sobs. Drayton stared at her a 
moment, then touched her with his foot and went out. 


CHAPTER XVI 


WHEN A MAN'S A MAN FOR A’ THAT 

A ND now the days, the dreadful days that followed 
■ for Drayton! 

After that noon of revelation he had gone away to 
himself, and thought it out. He had gone down to see 
Wolfschon in the morning and had found him steady, 
like a clock. All he had said was: 

“ If it had been anyone but Henley! Well, well. I 
wass too previous with dose emeraldts for Repecca — but 
Henley's vife hasn't got ’em." And Wolfschon grinned. 
But then, Wolfschon had Rebecca. Stebbins was on 
the way home: he had cabled again from Cherbourg. 
“ But say, Drayton, does it oggur to you that to cut in 
there Henley must have blown more than he can spare? 
— and he can’t do a thing. He believes he’s got us — 
we’ll have to come to terms but — Let it pust us if you 
say so! We won’t sell the copper we have. I'm will- 
ing to owe the whole dampt vorldt, if you are, before 
I'll make terms with that — " And Wolfschon proved his 
use of language, if not his command of himself. Dray- 
ton said: “Yes! " — then sat again a minute with his head 

on his hand. “The Baron won’t ?" He paused and 

looked at Wolfschon with something of inquiry in his 
glance. Wolfschon scowled and studied the blotter. 

“I don’t know, Drayton. The Baron expected us to 
— to deliver the goods. At any rate I guess the foreign 
alliance is postponed. We’ll have to haul in our horns 
— about a good many things — for — for — well I guess we 
216 


WHEN A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT 217 


will.” Drayton knew it; and nodded silently when 
Wolfschon confirmed his knowledge. Wolfschon had 
from the first engineered the Erleicher alliance. It was 
not “ International Copper” that was going to break the 
house and discredit it; it was enterprise undertaken, 
rashly, in anticipation of the Erleicher alliance. 

“I am not well, I fancy, Wolfschon; and I am going 
up into the country — to that place I once bought, up 
in Sullivan County.” And Wolfschon had looked up 
and nodded. 

“You go — you go quick, Drayton — and don’t worry. 
I’ll look after things. If we pust, why then we pust!” 
So Drayton left even without Bemie’s knowledge, and 
went into Sullivan County. What happened to him 
there only he himself knew; but whatever it was, he 
returned a week later, steady, determined, and entered 
his house with a preconceived idea of what he should 
do. He had heard nothing from Rosalie, and when he 
came home he learned that she was ill. He dined and 
then went to her. Fifine was there. 

“ Go away,” she said to the girl. Then, when she was 
gone, Rosalie stretched out her arms to him and cried as 
one stricken: 

“You’ve come back. Oh, don’t leave me again, 
Bridge. For God’s sake, don’t leave me alone again! 
I didn’t know but what you had gone. I’ll do anything, 
anything, only don’t say you won’t live with me. I’m 
not a good wife, but I’ll try if you won’t go away. Don’t 
let me be poor; I couldn’t live, Bridge, and be poor. 
I’ve lain here and thought and thought till I’m most 
crazy. Say something. Don’t go away.” And he sat 
down beside the bed and touched her hand which whimsi- 
cally sought his. 

“I am not going to leave you,” he said, and she 


2l8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


dropped back among the pillows. She was obviously 
ill. She was not the woman to endure much strain. 
“I don’t mean to leave you. Well get on the best 
we can, you and I, Rosalie. As for money — I’ll do what 
I can about that too. I dare say we shall get on.” And 
Drayton stared ahead of him and smiled. “I shall sell 
that new yacht. Stebbins and Wolf and I have got the 
fixtures, of course, and the good-will to start anew on. 
We — then he stopped. He had been about to men- 
tion that they had gone in deeper than they could stand 
for, in several other things, counting madly on the 
Erleicher alliance upon the consummation of the copper 
deal. 

“Can’t you fix it with Henley?” she asked. Drayton 
regarded her. 

“Not if you starve,” he said. He paused to give her 
a chance, but she had little to say. 

“I don’t care,” she said wearily. “I don’t care — 
if only you won’t go away and — let people know about 
me — and we don’t starve. The Van Vorsts are poor — • 
not very rich, anyway, and maybe there’s more — chance 
with — them than if we are rich.” 

“As for going away: I’ve already told you I am not 
going away. As for letting ‘people know’ about you: 
why, I don’t suppose there’s anything particular to 
tell. Nothing that would impress anybody but some- 
one like me. You’ve only done what every other woman 
of your — your kind — your condition — does, I begin to 
think.” The reference was to those ghost- thoughts that 
would evermore people his mind. “ I guess it is all right. 
As for money: you won’t starve. Y ou won’t have the new 
yacht, or the Southsea place to pull down and make 
over, or several other things; but I fancy you will not 
find any appreciable change in what we have for dinner, 


WHEN A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT 219 


or in my ability to replace the liveries when they be- 
come passe. 

“I came in to tell you about what I had planned to 
do. As a matter of fact, I myself am not feeling par- 
ticularly fit and it is my purpose to take the old yacht, the 

Rosalie , and go on a little trip ” 

“Not alone, Bridge! oh, not without me! Say you 
won’t leave me.” She sat up and wrung her hands in 
a panic. Drayton looked at her. Take her? His 

shoulders lifted and dropped. “Why,” he began 

“No, no. You’re going to say no. Don’t! I’m ill! 
I am afraid to lie here and think about it all. Oh, take 
me with you!” 

“Very well,” he answered. He wondered just how it 
was going to be. Was he going to “take her with him” 
for ever and ever? Was the millstone going to be 
around his neck for the rest of his unnatural life? He 
guessed so. He had thought of the sea and the quietude 
as a sort of life-preserver, but at the same time it was 
his fixed purpose to be a decent sort of man, and to do 
what he could for her. 

“ Very well. We will go together. I hope you will not 
get an idea that we are going to have a number of guests, 
or do any campaigning,” he continued, “because you 
would feel some disappointment, I fear. We are going 
alone. It was not my purpose even to have you with 
me ; I am going for rest ; for the purpose of setting my- 
self up a bit, and getting in form to go on with my 
business. That will be to your advantage, of course. 
We shall be going quite alone, and it would seem to me 

that you might better enjoy ” 

“Don’t say that. I don’t care about others not 
going. I tell you I am afraid to have you go away. 
I have tried to think about others and who to turn to, 


220 


IN HIGH PLACES 


when things are like this — when you went and left me 
alone — but there wasn’t any one. All Gib Henley 
wanted was to find out; I’m sure that was it. Maybe 
that was why he said that about that Merideth woman 
— maybe he had tried to find out from her and she 
wouldn’t tell him. I’ve thought of that, too. I 
shouldn’t wonder if that was why he tried to make me 
jealous.” 

Drayton’s poor sick soul 

“There isn’t anybody but you; besides, you are my 
husband. And I have to depend on you. That’s 
natural, isn’t it?” She seemed to be wanting Drayton 
to search out some intelligent premise for her to adopt. 
Drayton listened. He was sorry that he could not do 
more. It seemed to him it would have been pleasant 
if he could have had the impulse to take her in his arms. 
He did not have it, however. 

“Maybe that Wolfschon woman would tell me what 
to do ” 

“I hardly think she would have the time,” Drayton 
said, looking at her. 

“After a while, I’ll make another fortune for you. 
Till then you will have to make the best of it.” 

“Oh, I would like the money, but it wouldn’t do any 
good, if you didn’t care as you used to. It’s being all 
alone, like this, that is awful. I believe the only thing 
in the whole world that cares for me is the cat. I want 
him,” she said, looking around. “Hand him up here.” 
Drayton dumped him by the scruff of the neck, and the 
cat sought a soft place to lie down upon. “You don’t 
admire me any more, or think you can’t live without 
me — you think you could live without me, don’t you?” 
she sad suddenly. She was one of the morbid kind who 
is compelled to think upon the worst. 


WHEN A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT 221 


“I think I could,” he answered, not unkindly, “but 
it is not a pleasant thing to think of. Let us think of 
cheerfuller things. Since you wish to go with me, I 
must consider your health. I had meant to go at once, 
but I fear that would not do for you. You must not try 
to urge yourself. I can wait. I shall be pleased to wait. ” 

As his repulsion grew upon him, he felt a corresponding 
return of his habitual refinement of purpose, and had a 
desire to treat her with the utmost circumspection. 

“ I shall be able to go. It is being alone that has done 
it. Ill be ready when you want to go.” 

“Very well, then, say next Saturday? The yacht 
has been lying in the bay, since before this trouble, 
because I expected to take a quiet trip about the time 
you left for Europe. Shall we say Saturday?” 

“Yes, yes. That’s all right. Maybe, Bridge, when 
we are all alone out there, and you have nobody else 
to think about or to see, you might — you might be glad 
I was there — you might care about me again — if there 
wasn’t anything else ” 

Drayton looked at her, and thought: “Not in a 
thousand years.” He said, politely: “That’s quite 
possible, and now I think I should go and let you sleep.” 

“Oh — if you would only — stay — ” she said, sitting 
up and looking at him piteously. 

“Why — I’m pretty tired — and not a very jolly com- 
panion to-night, Rosalie. I think perhaps I had better 
go to my own rooms. I’ll arrange for next Saturday, 
then, and see you in the meantime. Good-night,” he 
said, and smiled graciously, and went out. He did not 
know that he was unkind. He did not wish to be. It 
was simply one of those situations that could not be 
helped. Once he had eaten his heart out for her, but 
he could not help her out now. 


222 


IN HIGH PLACES 


And Rosalie was as a woman dreaming. She had lost 
all power to find entertainment outside herself, and had 
no resources within. The great rock of Drayton’s love 
was swept away and all the convenience of it. What was 
to be done ? There were moments when she overwhelmed 
him and compelled him to know the fulness of her dis- 
traction ; moments when she twined and trellised about 
him and made him sick and faint with a sense of the 
perversion of his life and love and purposes. She break- 
fasted with him; she waited for him at night, and en- 
treated him to assure her again and again that ‘‘things 
would come right,” and that he wouldn’t go away and 
leave her to herself. If Henley had been in America 
now, she would have clawed his face. Drayton’s 
instincts and practices enabled him to treat her with 
uniform kindness. 

Then she wailed: “I don’t want you to be kind. I 
want you to be as you used to be. I — I — want you to — 
carry me upstairs.” And Drayton shrank back like a 
woman. It was not even a revelation of passion in her. 
It was only the great, dominating desire of woman to be 
necessary to someone, and more especially to some 
man. She got more and more on his nerves. He tried 
not to think of her when he was out of the house, but 
that was impossible: he knew he should find her on his 
return home. It got so that he never went home as 
long as there was any place else to go. 

They could not leave on Saturday, but had to wait 
a week. In the meantime, Drayton breakfasted with 
Rosalie. Once she came to his office — and the office 
almost never got over it. She frilled in as beautiful as 
the day, to her mouth a pathetic droop which had be- 
come more pronounced since the day when Drayton had 
ceased to love her. 


WHEN A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT 223 


Drayton had stared at her, and forgotten to show 
her the commonplace courtesies, till she had startled 
him by saying: 

“Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down, Bridge?” 

“I beg your pardon,” he had answered, seating her 
with alacrity. “It was such a surprise — a pleasant sur- 
prise to see you here — that I had forgotten. You must 
let me take you home. This part of the city is quite 
strange to you — I will be ready instantly.” She was 
glad she had come ; she had a chance to ride home with 
him in the machine, and she knew in all decency he would 
have to go into the house. To be ever on the qui vive 
was wearing her out. They dined together. She tried 
dismissing Grant as she had done that first morning 
at breakfast when Drayton thought he had come 
- into his own, but some way it miscarried, and nothing 
happened. 

“Is it because I spoiled your business?” she asked 
wistfully. 

“I beg your pardon?” he replied, looking at her with 
a puzzled expression. 

“Do you no longer love me because I spoiled your 
business?” 

“Oh! To answer that in any way would be to 
accept your postulate — that I have ceased to love 
you. I should not care to do that.” 

“But it is true, and is it because I spoiled your 
business?” 

“ Wolfschon has lost by this, and he loves his wife,” 
Drayton remarked. 

“But she didn’t do it.” 

“She might have made a serious mistake, also, 
but I do not think it would have affected his love 
for her.” 


224 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Then why does it make a difference in your love 
for me?” 

“It does not — in the least. I am very sorry for your 
sake: for my part, you will remember — or maybe you 
won’t — that I once proposed a life on a thousand a 
month (we have considerably more than that, of course) 
and you alone saw nothing desirable about it. The loss 
does not especially disturb me, so far as any economy of 
my own desire goes.” 

“Wolfschon loves his wife ” 

“Wolfschon’s wife is the mother of his children” — 
and the moment he had said it he regretted it. 

“ Bridge ” 

“But then, that is Wolfschon — and Rebecca.” He 
smiled. “They have the time.” He rang for Grant. 
“The birds are out of season,” he said when the butler 
came. “It is against my conscience to eat them. I 
wish you would serve me a little differently. Take the 
birds and bring something else ; there are plenty of other 
things that it is not an outrage just now to kill. Bring 
some of them.” 

And for the time, an uncomfortable moment was 
passed over. But such moments continually recurred, 
until a man must either have ceased to be a gentleman or 
have become a liar ; so one evening after dinner, Drayton 
chose the lesser evil, prevaricated and found himself 
in her apartments, making the best of things. And life 
was all black to him. 

They got off on the Rosalie. There the very heavens 
seemed to shut down upon him: at no time could he put 
more than a few feet between himself and his wife. He 
chafed, he fretted, but lived a gentlemanly existence: 
he covered his wife’s feet, and tucked the rugs about her. 
He brought her champagne in season and truffles all 


WHEN A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT 225 


day. So oppressive was he in his desire to do something 
that did not revolt his whole soul, and thereby make 
her forget that she was unsatisfied, that she sometimes 
was awed into silence and quietly dropped the super- 
fluities overboard. To have eaten and drunk them all 
would have killed her. 

At night Drayton would steal out to smoke and try 
to lose himself in a sense of that vast nothingness com- 
pelled by an empty sea. But oppression overwhelmed 
him. He awoke in the night to find himself fighting 
some devil, for whom, after all, he felt a sort of pitying 
kindness; then he would go to her door and look to 
see if all were well with her. He wanted to be kind: 
her troubles were real enough and likely to last the 
remainder of her days: she wanted the unattainable. 
There was a joke in it somewhere, if only Drayton could 
work it out. 

One night after a trying day, when his soul had 
shrivelled and shrunk and grown sick with protest 
against what is, being right, he had come up for a solitary 
smoke, having remained with Rosalie for two hours after 
dinner, during which he had listened to her vapours and 
distractions and entreaties to “feel as he used to”; and 
after his heroic efforts to counterfeit the past, Rosalie 
had gone to bed: there was nothing to sit up for. She 
had been especially overwhelmed with fears for the 
future. She anticipated poverty and loneliness, and 
Drayton had become distraught. He had finally soothed 
her and seen her grow tranquil and leave him to himself. 
As he walked the deck, it suddenly overcame him — 
the future with this weight upon him! Every day, 
every hour almost: because she was becoming more and 
more exigent. 

As Drayton looked out over the sea, the full sense of 


226 


IN HIGH PLACES 


what he had lost forevermore rushed upon him. He had 
lost hope. Suddenly he stepped to the rail ; it was a 
tranquil night on which to die. He threw his cigar into 
the sea and placed his foot upon the rail ; then a thought 
of the foolish, impotent woman below stole into his sorely 
tried heart, and he hesitated. “I have not the time’ ’ — 
he muttered, and stepped down from the railing and 
leaned heavily against it. The impulse toward death 
had been very great, his restraining thought almost 
too late, and his heart beat to suffocation. 

Then as he leaned there, sick of the finite, longing for 
the infinite, there came the slow dawning of a thought 
which grew and grew within him, till all the world seemed 
echoing back his renascent hope. He opened wide his 
arms, and his heart cried in a loud voice: 

“Jean Merideth!” 

Drayton stood beside the rail a moment and then 
went into the cabin of the sailing master. He was 
having a “ nightcap” and a smoke. As Drayton put his 
head in the door, he took his feet from the table and 
started to rise, but before he could do it, Drayton spoke: 

“Put about,” he said. “Home — home quick. Make 
it in ten days, Hank, and I’ll give you the Rosalie .” 

“I’ll make it,” he said. And Drayton had no more 
idea of what he should do when he landed than his 
sailing master had. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A WOMAN IN LOVE 

O N THE day when Drayton turned his yacht toward 
New York Harbour, Wolfschon was about to 
leave the Broad Street office early ; he and Rebecca were 
going to take in a private view. As he started out, his 
office boy ran against him with a cablegram. Wolfschon 
took it, thinking it was something he had been expecting 
from Stebbins ever since morning. Stebbins had 
returned home after the smash-up, but had gone back 
to Paris again, almost immediately. Wolfschon opened 
the message in the doorway and instead of the simple 
“No” or “Yes” expected, he found a cipher message 
signed “Merideth.” 

The name alone would have given Wolfschon pause. 
He was uninformed how Drayton had felt about her 
absence, but for his part, he had felt her loss, even though 
she had been Drayton's private secretary. “ Merideth! ” 
Wolfschon went back into his room and sat down at his 
desk again, with his hat and light overcoat on. “Meri- 
deth.” He sent out for his clerk to translate for him, but 
his clerk had gone out on business. He didn't care to 
have the matter pass under anyone else’s review: he 
had no sort of notion what Jean Merideth could have 
cabled. He sent for the code in the interests of dis- 
cretion; then Wolfschon began to labour. Pretty soon 
he took off his hat. He got thus far: “Cable full 
authority.” And at this point he took off his coat. 
After a while he got further: “To act for your 

227 


228 


IN HIGH PLACES 


house in Paris. Cable to Erleicher, confirming my 
authority.” 

It had taken Wolfschon some little time to arrive at 
this, and in doing so, he had got down to his vest. 

This was all, and it seemed to be enough. On the 
whole, Wolfschon thought it was a pretty comprehensive 
request for the entire plant of Drayton, Wolfschon & 
Stebbins if one took it literally. Just then the boy 
brought him another cable, this time from Stebbins, 
and it said “No!” and “Sailing.” So that settled any- 
thing like making inquiry of Stebbins. Wolfschon sat 
and studied his cipher cable in the full light of its trans- 
lation, and the decisiveness that he had so many 
times heard in Jean Merideth’s voice seemed to have 
travelled all the way across the Atlantic. Yet — it was 
rather a tremendous thing to do! Wolfschon wondered 
why she hadn’t addressed it to Drayton, and then thought 
she might know in some way that Drayton was off some- 
where on the Atlantic on the yacht — but yet 
she didn’t. 

He pulled a telegraph pad toward him and wrote 
“O. K.,” and then he waited. It was doing a large 
thing, after all, nevertheless he presently wrote the 
cable for the Baron as requested. He tore off the 
blank, put on his coat, took his hat and went out. 
When he got home, Rebecca was in the hall. 

“ I gafe you up, Louis,” she said, as he was coming in. 

“Say, Repecca,” and Wolfschon hurried past her into 
the library at the end of the hall. “Shut the door,” 
he said, as she followed him in. 

“ Maxie wanted to know when you came in ” 

“Well, Maxie will wait. Just look here, Repecca,” 
he said, pulling Jean’s cable from his pocket and 
spreading it upon the library table. 


A WOMAN IN LOVE 


229 


‘‘Take off your coat, Louis. You will get yourself 
hot mit it on,” she cautioned, leaning on the table and 
reading the translation which Wolfschon had scribbled 
underneath the cipher. 

“Well,” she said, after a minute, looking at him with 
eager eyes. 

“Well?” Wolfschon echoed. 

“I guess they’ll fix him!” Rebecca said, her eyes 
taking on a shrewd brilliancy. 

“Who’ll fix who?” Wolfschon asked, frowning and 
regarding his wife anxiously. 

“Henley!” she almost shouted. “Louis Wolfschon, 
what’s the matter mit you? Are you asleep? What 
did you show me dose vorts for if you didn’t know what 
they meant?” 

“Just to find out,” Wolfschon remarked, folding the 
cable with an air of triumph and putting it in his pocket. 
Rebecca looked at him. 

“Haff you sent dos gables?” she asked, her brows 
contracted. 

“I will in a minute,” Wolfschon answered, touching 
the bell. 

“You mean you are going to do it because I say to 
you what — what — I haff? You are von crazy man, 
Louis Wolfschon.” 

“Well, I don’t know.” And Wolfschon handed the 
cablegrams he had written at the office, to the man who 
answered the bell. 

“What does that mean?” Rebecca asked in her turn, 
as she and Wolfschon stood in the middle of the room 
looking at each other. 

“Well, it means,” said Wolfschon judicially, “that 
I have laid the fortunes of Drayton, Wolfschon 
& Steppins at Miss Merideth’s feet, and I have 


230 


IN HIGH PLACES 


she won’t step on ’em.” After a puzzled silence 
he said: 

“I wonder if she can know that the Baron and I — ” 
and he paused to follow the pattern of the rug. Rebecca 
sat down abstractedly, and then Wolfschon sat down, 
mechanically following her action. 

“I don’t believe she will ‘step on them,’” Rebecca 
said after a while; “besides, the Baron — ” Wolf- 
schon looked at his wife, nodded, and his eyes twinkled. 

“I don’t know ass it makes any difference if Jean and 
der Baron both walk all offer ’em. Wolfschon, Drayton 
& Steppins seem to have got going and can’t stop! 
I guess ass a firm we haff gone grazy ; but if we have to 
haff a fire-sale, I’ll neffer tell the jury that acquits us, 
what we did with the lamp. Iss dinner reatty?” 

“ No — it iss only six o’clock. How can you talk about 
dinner, Louis? It makes me sick.” 

“What does it make you sick for?” he asked, looking 
at her in surprise. 

“If I haff made a fool of you ” 

“Well, if you haff, I’ll neffer let anybody know it, 
Repecca.” 

“If I’ve done it, I don’t care who knows it,” she said, 
frowning at the cable pad on the table. 

“Well, by Heffens! I care! I could stand making 
a fool of myself, but I’ll not be made a fool of by my vife 
and let anybody find it out.” 

“I shan’t sleep a wink to-night. Can’t you find out 
something? ” 

“Not anything she isn’t willing to tell — she’s got 
things in her own hands — or the Baron's,” he added 
with a certain relief. — “Steppins, the only one who could 
find out anything, iss on the Atlantic. What’s the 
matter with you? Get on your things and we’ll rite 


A WOMAN IN LOVE 


231 


the wheels off the Panhard. Gome along. You were 
gay enough when you read the cable. Well, now, I haff 
done the trick, what are you talking about !” Rebecca 
began to weep, and when Rebecca wept it was a 
cataclysm. 

“Oh now, damn it,” said Wolfschon, getting red. 
“ Don’t go off like that, Repecca. Let the whole crowd 
go pust. Who cares? You, the mother of Maxie and 
Solly and Ikie and Sarah and ” 

“After I wass the mother of all of them, I should haff 
learned something. Louis Wolfschon, I think you are 
a fool. I don’t ligue you. You haff no sense and I 
neffer thought so ” 

“That iss better, little Peeckie, just you keep up like 
that and you will feel hungry for your dinner. You 
get on your things and drive the Panhard. I will let 
you pust us up in der middle of der street. Gome, my 
darling.’’ And Wolfschon would have put his arm 
about her. 

“You go clear away from me, Louis Wolfschon. I 
will haff nothing to do mit you.” Rebecca sobbed 
again wildly. 

“But well! What iss der matter of you? It iss a 
matter of only money and nothing else. Haff you lost 
your children? Haff you lost me? Haff you — you 
don’t show any sense.” 

“ I haff lost my children their money,” she wailed. 

“Well, if you haff — and I don’t believe it — I will 
make them some more — The Baron — will you stop that 
noise. I can’t stand it. Repecca, stop that veeping 
or I will diworce you. Get on your things and come 
out and raise hell, but have some fun about it, and not 
like this. Get your things.” Rebecca sat up and tried 
to see him through her tears. 


IN HIGH PLACES 


232 

‘‘Louis, you do not mean that?” 

“I mean effery thing. What are you talking about?” 

“You wouldn’t diworce me, Louis Wolfschon, if ” 

“Well, it iss a good thing to half in the law, by gracious ! 
We Jews have something to hang on to when you agt 
like this. Maybe I won’t, Repecca, if you behave your- 
self better than this, but don’t you forget I can” — and 
the same grin spread itself over his face that Drayton 
had seen on the first night he dined there. 

“Gome! Don’t be a fool, Repecca, and cry offer 
something we can’t help. I don’t know if you were right 
about that guess about Henley, but you may as well be 
right as wrong. V\7e’re in a devil of a mess as it iss, and 
can’t be much worse'off. But don’t you think if Drayton 
and Steppins and I were all three wiped out — effen our 
personal fortunes — that we would die poor men! No! 
We couldn’t die poor if we wanted to. Some men are 
born to make money. We are. It isn’t the money, it 
iss the game.” 

“That iss so,” she said, looking about. “We haff 
been so rich as we could not spend, for a good many 
years. We could stop any time. I remember the time 
you stopped!” She and Wolfschon looked at each 
other and smiles born of some recollection crossed 
the faces of both. 

“That wass an elegant bluff at being some other man, 
wassn’t it?” Both laughed. “I tell you, Repecca, 
that taught me something about myself and men like 
me. Here was Louis Wolfschon and his vife off in 
Europe trying to haff a good time because they were 
rich enough. While I was buying those pictures, I 
wass all right. It wass a queer oggupation, but I wass 
all right — I like pictures! But, for a man to go tramping 
offer der vorlt looking up pictures as if his life depended 


A WOMAN IN LOVE 


233 


on it! — why, a man with instincts could buy up the whole 
dampt pictures of the vorlt in six months if he went at 
it in a business-like way — and by gracious, Repecca! I 
can't go at anything in any other way. I'd have to be 
trained to be a fool, if I had to be one " 

'‘That cable just now " 

“Now, don’t get to going on that gable! I'm finding 
out effery minute I talk here about effery thing but that, 
that it is the wisest thing I effer did. I'll take care of 
Drayton, Wolfschon & Steppins, vife — or I guess the 
Baron will. But about those pictures — well, we bought 
all we wanted — better ones than other folks haff got: 
we haff a nose for them, we Jews. Then one morning 
I got up planning that I should cable to Drayton some 
adwice about some 1 business matter that we had in hand 
when I undertook to gif up business. I made up my 
mind four times while I wass getting on my clothes — to 
do it and not to do it. I wass out of it. It wass none of 
my affair! Well, when I got to breakfast, by gracious, 
I couldn’t think of anything else. I wass having such 
a good time mit my brains I couldn’t taste the coffee 
in my mouth. We were going to go and see the vorlt 
— eh?" Wolfschon threw back his head and laughed 
and by this time Rebecca was fatly chuckling at Wolf- 
schon 's recollections of the one famous time in their lives. 

“Well, I tried to. We got as far as Gonstantinople, 
didn’t we? — and that adwice to Drayton on my mind 
gaff me a fever, and at Gonstantinople I said: ‘Repecca, 
you go ahead and see the vorlt — I'm going home and 
see the office.’ " 

“Well, Louis, about the time you said that, I wass 
haffing an awful time trying to see der vorlt, too. I 
had been thinking for two weeks of dos pickles Maxie 
likes — and not a soul to put them up mi tout me. I most 


234 


IN HIGH PLACES 


couldn’t stand it. It’s all right to see the vorlt if busi- 
ness takes you there, but ” 

“Well, I got home here, and it wass after office hours, 
and I tried to find Drayton at his club, and I couldn’t, 
and he wassn’t anywhere. And in the night I went 
around to his house — that wass the only time I wass 
effer in Drayton’s house,” he mused. “It struck a 
chill to the heart. It wass awful, Repecca. Yes, by 
gracious, it wass awful! It wass finer than the palaces 
you and I haff been in abroad — finer than — Rothschild’s 
or — or the Baron’s — and I had rather live in my stable! 
Well, Drayton wass there, in a little kind of box stall — 
it looked to me the best room in the house, though — the 
stuffing wass coming out of the arm of one chair; and I 
said, 'Drayton, I haff come to give you some adwice 
I haff had on my mind for four weeks. You must let 
me giff it to you or I shall kill myself. If you will buy 
up that forty miles of railroad belonging to the A. A. & R. 
on the west bank of a leettle creek that runs on the 
other side of that Nevada mountain, you’ll knock the 
bowels clean out of the Central System and own the 
West,’ and I felt better. Drayton said: 'I thought of 
it, and bought it two months ago just after you went 
travelling.’ And I said right then: 'Drayton, I’ve got 
to come back. I thought I could go on and have a goot 
time if I got that adwice off my mind, but now I’ve got 
to come back. I’ve got to vork with the man who 
could think of that without my help. Drayton, you’ll 
have to let me in again, or I shall die of starvation of 
my mind and feelings!’ Yes, that wass it! It isn’t 
the money — effer,” he said thoughtfully, gazing at her. 
“It iss to work a man’s own brains. By Gott! It’s 
glorious!” And Wolfschon trembled from head to foot 
and clasped and unclasped his bony sensitive fingers. 


A WOMAN IN LOVE 


235 


“While you were looking up Drayton, I wass getting 
dos pickles to soak,” Rebecca remarked triumphantly, 
rising. “I’ll get my things on,” and she went out. 

“Have somebody bring me my machine clothes, 
Repecca,” he called after her, and then took out Jean 
Merideth’s cable once more; but this time he narrowed 
his eyes and examined it with a satisfied expression. 

“But Henley’s bought the Ophrosis , and holds it, 
and I don’t just see what the Baron can do,” he mused. 
Nevertheless, as the moments passed he was feeling more 
and more assured. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 

W HILE this was the situation in Wolfschon’s 
library, Jean Merideth sat in an hotel apart- 
ment three thousand miles away, waiting for Wolfschon’s 
answer. She was not at all sure it would be satisfactory. 
She believed that she had asked more than she actually 
had, because she did not know that the relation between 
the old banker and the younger one was the closest in 
the world. What she did reckon on, however, was that 
superior genius of Drayton and Wolfschon: that sixth 
sense which enabled them to gimlet their way to a 
situation without going through a certain mental process. 

She had left Drayton’s office on a Friday morning, 
and America on Saturday. In due course of time she 
had found herself in London, avoiding her acquaint- 
ances, of whom she had many, and wandering dismally 
about alone. Later she had fetched up somewhere in 
the Orient ; then sickening of desolation and segregation 
she had started on the impulse of a moment, for Paris, 
and there had sought her friends and had become the 
guest of one of them. She visited the Fremiers. Frem- 
ier was a politician and was not interested in finance, 
but, as a politician, he sometimes learned what financiers 
did not, about their own confreres. It had been in the late 
spring when Jean had reached Paris, and a little later, 
on a June morning, she had travelled with the Fremiers 
to Havre, to watch a regatta. Fremier had a boat in 
which he was interested. 


236 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


237 


Then, sitting at dejeuner in the glass-faced room of 
the Frascati, she had seen Henley doing the same thing 
in company with Hulot, a heavy* Paris banker; also, 
Henley had seen her. Away from her office surround- 
ings she was the more impressive to him. The noon- 
day light brought out certain fine points of colouring, 
and the details of her toilette were approved by him — he 
was fastidious in such matters. He had gone over to 
the Premiers’ table; Jean had seen him coming; despised 
him, meant to cut him — and for some woman’s reason 
didn’t do it. Instead she behaved decently enough to 
him to disturb him, and she introduced him to her 
friends whereupon Henley was twice impressed: Fremier 
always knew things which most people didn’t. 

Henley had asked if she were going to Paris, learned 
she was, and some sort of entente w^as established between 
them. They said nothing about Drayton, Wolfschon 
and Stebbins. When he had withdrawn Jean regretted 
that she had not cut him; yet he was a link, a distrusted 
one, but still a link, between the old life and the present. 
Besides — well, she wasn’t sure why, but she was glad to 
know precisely where Henley was. 

While she and her friends still sat looking out upon 
the sea, the presence of the banker who was with Henley 
influenced the conversation, and Jean mentioned her 
purpose to invest in certain securities handled by Hulot 
et Cie. Fremier had spoken cautiously against it. 

“Let them alone. I have reason to know” — And 
he paused. 

“Yes ” 

“These people are shaky Jean — of course, this is in 
confidence.” And then he had said no more about it, 
but she had left Paris without making the investment. 
Afterward she forgot the incident. She had gone north 


23B 


IN HIGH PLACES 


then, because the midnight sun was her kind of sun in 
those days. She hadn’t returned to Paris before spring, 
because after the midnight sun, she had thought of 
Cannes. Finally on the morning when she had again 
wakened in Paris, she had gone to Erleicher’s where she 
banked, to look after her affairs. She did not know the 
Baron, and had little communication with the banking 
house. Simply she transacted what business she had 
to transact through that house because it was more or 
less tributary to Drayton, Wolfschon and Stebbins. 
She had started into the bank, and had met Stebbins 
who was just going out to get his breakfast, before he 
should get a train to Havre. He was sailing that 
night. When they met so unexpectedly, Jean felt 
the colour go from her face. Then she had grasped 
Stebbins’s outstretched hand as if it were a life 
preserver. 

The dreadful homesickness that had pursued her since 
the hour she had left Drayton’s office, rushed upon her, 
full force, at sight of Stebbins. Tears would have come 
to her eyes, only she never wept. To her life was too 
serious a matter for tears — unless indeed, it was too 
inconsequent. Whichever it was she never experienced 
it tearfully. 

Stebbins had just left a hopeless conference with Baron 
Erleicher, mad clear through and wishing he was a con- 
founded woman and could cry, and when he rushed pell- 
mell into Jean, he shouted “Miss Merideth” in honest 
and spontaneous joy. 

“Now if this doesn’t beat — well come right along 
with me! I’ve got to leave for Havre inside an hour, 
and I’ve got to get lunch — breakfast, these idiots call 
it.’’ Stebbins was so American that it hurt him. “ Come 
right along,” and propelled ahead of him, her elbow 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


239 


grasped and hitched at an inconceivable angle, Jean was 
directed toward a cab. Afterward, sitting in a res- 
taurant they talked. At the end of five minutes she 
knew all there was to know about the situation. Henley 
had bought the Heyse mine and it was a hold-up. She 
knew for what the House had let itself in, in anticipation 
of the alliance with Erleicher which was to consummate 
the copper deal. Stebbins had just been praying to 
Erleicher to take care of them and avoid an inevitable 
smash, but the old banker was scowling over the Inter- 
national Copper fiasco. 

“Why say, that old ass wants to know how Henley 
came to know about our plans? As if anyone could 
tell! How does anybody get to know anything? Erleicher 
seems to think we don’t know business. Said we 
had it all in our hands and that nobody but fools would 
have let it slip through. Said we blabbed just like a 
lot of old women. Sat there and told Drayton, Wolf- 
schon & Stebbins, the closest mouth that ever was 
on this earth, that it was an old woman! And by the 
Lord Harry, we’re so damnably stuck, that I had to sit 
and take it. He sent some tender words to Wolf, too, 
by — well, he did.” And poor Stebbins nearly choked 
with recollections of the interview, gasped and leaned 
back in his chair. “Yes, its a hold-up — for Eternity,” 
he said, slapping a wad of butter on to a French pancake 
where it didn’t belong. “Forever, if we have to, because 
I’ll go clean broke before Henley shall break in by holding 
the knife at our throats. I hate him — hate him like the 
devil. And gad, I don’t know anybody who doesn’t. 
Say, that’s a fact,” he asserted, looking up surprised 
at his own discovery. “Henley is hated like smoke 
by everybody I ever knew who knew him. Well, as 
far as I’m concerned, I’ll go broke I say — ” And thus, 


240 


IN HIGH PLACES 


the partners, three thousand miles apart, were unanimous 
on the subject. 

“Well,” said Stebbins whimsically, looking for some 
sort of response from Jean. But she had nothing to say. 
Her hands were clasped in her lap and she was looking 
hard at Stebbins’s pancake and her mouth was set in a 
perfectly straight line. She automatically registered in 
her mind that Stebbins was looking for the sugar, and 
handed it to him. 

“Lost interest in the old shop?” he inquired. She 
shook her head. “Hit you so hard you haven’t a word 
to say,” he announced with conviction. She nodded. 

“I never knew a woman but you who could keep her 
mouth shut, Miss Merideth. I suppose there are others, 
but I never happened to strike ’em. I knew it would 
hit you hard — like that. Well, I’m off in twenty minutes 
more — train to Havre.” He looked at his watch and 
rose. She rose too. They shook hands. “No word to 
send back to the old shop? Drayton or Wolf? — ” She 
shook her head. She hadn’t spoken since Stebbins’s 
revelation. 

As soon as Stebbins had climbed into a cab, she hailed 
another and followed her baggage to a hotel. She 
sat down with her hat on and remained staring at her 
hands for the best part of an hour. During that time 
she had one dominant thought: that she had better see 
Henley. She hadn’t got as far as to decide why. 

Henley was in town and at the Bristol: Stebbins had 
said so. She telephoned and got him, on the ’phone. 
Her voice was a surprise to him. That voice deep down 
in her chest — like a cello! Henley was glad to hear it. 
She asked him to dine with her that night, at her hotel. 
She wanted to consult him about her business affairs. 
Henley felt very indulgent and humorous about the 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


241 


business affairs of women. In this case he thought one 
excuse for dining with Jean as good as another. On the 
whole he was inclined to believe that Jean was beginning 
to value him as she should: that is, from his own point of 
view. 

She spent the remainder of the day in trying to think 
out what she could do when he came, but by the time 
she had begun to dress for dinner, she was no nearer to 
a decision than she had been when the idea to speak 
with him had first imposed itself upon her. 

As for Henley’s thoughts: she had mentioned that she 
needed advice in her own affairs, she had spoken of 
them as finite, but naturally important to her. It might 
mean she wished to make a small deal, or that she wanted 
to become Henley’s secretary on the strength of his long- 
standing offer. 

When Henley arrived she had on some sort of gown 
that was lace outside and flesh-coloured underneath, 
and it fitted her as it should. Henley thought she was 
more his sort of woman to-night, than she had ever 
been before; that is, so far as he could tell. 

“I think I have asked a great deal of you,” she said, 
while Henley was putting off his coat and trying to run 
to its lair the perfume she wore. Ordinarily she never 
wore any. She preferred to smell clean for her part. 
But business was business always — and Drayton’s 
business was God’s! 

Henley seemed to be breathing all over the place. 
It was a detail like this that was likely to get on her nerves 
and spoil her surest undertaking. She was impervious 
to large calamities, but not to calamities like Henley’s 
breathing. His heavy white fingers also got on her 
mind again as of yore, the moment she saw him. 

“I think I am asking a great deal of you,” she said. 


IN HIGH PLACES 


242 

“Maybe you are,” he answered with his trick of self- 
valuation looming large: it was as much a part of him 
as his fine, thick and somewhat sodden brown hair. 
He was well groomed, undeniably, but he was a man 
who had the appearance of being fettered by the flesh. 
His skin was white, but net clear, his hair was abundant, 
but not vital, his body ponderous, but not fat. His 
breath was laboured, but he was not asthmatic. 

“If you are asking a great deal of me, I think I am 
repaid by seeing you again.’ ’ He took her hand while 
she thought of the human Cash Register, but momen- 
tarily left her hand in his. They were dining in Jean’s 
private sitting-room, and she had thought out the 
details with some care. 

Henley was notoriously a champagne man, and Jean 
forgot nothing ; hence Henley began and ended his dinner 
with champagne, and he had pursued it in the middle. 
While Jean watched him, she found herself chiefly con- 
scious of his lymphatic system. It wasn’t circulation 
of the blood Henley needed, but something to set the 
lymph going. That was the trouble with Henley ; 
and to a woman of sensibilities, his “system,’’ circulatory, 
muscular, or something or other else of his bodily con- 
dition, kept obtruding itself. Just now she thought 
that champagne was so the antithesis of Henley that — 
that he needed it. Maybe the sparkles could be got 
into his hair, or stir up his still, inevitable skin. 

She had provided for his dinner all of those things 
which should counteract or antidote him: high flavours 
and the like. Her gauge was right: she had never 
dined with Henley before, but she had met his require- 
ments. In the natural course of events: 

“I am no longer with Drayton, Wolfschon & Steb- 
bins,’’ she said, as if it were of no importance, “ and ” 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


243 

“You are ready to consider my offer?” Henley 
interrupted — because if she should say “yes,” Henley 
meant to tell her it was no longer open to her. It was 
his way of making his value appreciated. 

“No,” and she looked at the waiter, who in his turn 
looked after Henley's champagne glass. “No, I shall 
never take any other engagement,” she said. “My own 
affairs have seemed so to accumulate in these years of 
secretaryship, that I need to look after them. No, I 
shall never fetter myself again.” 

“But I need you — and the same old offer is always 
open,” he said, now revising his intention — because this 
was the alternate way of impressing her with his 
importance. 

“I think if I ever undertook to ally myself with any- 
body again, it would be with you — I like your methods 
— bold, and can’t miss in the end! But I am only 
interested in my own affairs,” she said, speaking in a 
sort of concentrated manner, with a kind of casual 
recognition of Henley and his perspicacity; quite as 
if that went without saying in the mind of one as judi- 
cial as she was. She had some subtle way of giving 
her opinion value. As she spoke, her manner indicated 
that she recognised him as a man of place, and yet she 
caused him to feel uneasy lest she should not know how 
really great a man he was. He wondered how much 
she knew about the International. She had gone from 
Drayton’s before that happened. He knew that his 
conversation with Rosalie one night at an Opera had 
probably been the direct reason of her going, but he had 
never found out anything from Rosalie. Rosalie was 
always cunning if never clever. As Henley listened to 
Drayton’s former secretary, he decided that business 
was business to her, be it Drayton’s, Henley’s or her 


IN HIGH PLACES 


244 

own, and that any sentimental affairs of hers — and he 
couldn’t believe but what she had them — were outside 
the life 1 with which he naturally associated her. He 
never thought she had any personal interest in Drayton. 
For one thing, Henley was handicapped in his judg- 
ments by his great self-love. Just now he wished she 
knew how great a man he was. After a full half-hour 
of fencing: 

“I suppose you know of the cropper D., W. & S. 
have come, in that copper deal?” he asked, looking by 
now a little shy of his champagne glass which had just 
been refilled. Jean, too, was drinking — less than she 
seemed to be. 

“No — yes — er — I’ve been out of the world lately: 
just going about. I want literally to go ’round the 
world after I get my affairs in order,” she said musingly. 

“I have always had a ” 

“No! you don’t mean you haven’t heard about cop- 
per? I thought you being so close to the firm ” 

“But I don’t know anything about the Drayton 
office now. I haven’t for more than a year. I sup- 
posed they had closed that matter. If they haven’t 

I left before the matter was adjusted and I haven’t 
followed their affairs since. I have always meant to 

have the trip through ” 

“Why, see here! didn’t you know that the Heyse 
mine ” 

“I believe I heard nothing but the Heyse mine every 

day for — well, for a long time” she smiled; “and ” 

“But — but see here,” he persisted, “I turned that 
trick — myself,” quickly, triumphantly and a little softly. 

“How do you mean?” she asked, suspending her fork 
operations just long enough for Henley to observe the 
action. , 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


245 


“I own the Ophrosis. ” She glanced up at him and he 
started again. “I own it and they can’t do a thing.” 
She was pursuing her dinner without a pause. 

“I didn’t know you had an interest in that mine. I 
thought Mrs. Heyse was the sole” — she was speaking 
as if it was no especial affair of hers; only she would 
concern herself in what concerned him, in the interests 
of polite society. 

“I hadn’t an interest in it! I bought it outright. 
I’ve knocked D., W. & S. into a cocked hat.” 

“Do you mean that — that you have bought the 
Ophrosis outright, and that the European-American 
alliance is side-tracked? — held up, in consequence?” 

“I mean just that.” After an impressive minute she 
half reached out her hand, then withdrew it. 

“You’re a great man,” she said quietly, resuming 
her dinner. Then after a minute: “I didn’t know you 
could command so much capital at once.” Her tone 
implied all that admiration for which Henley had striven, 
during the hour. He started to speak. 

“If you don’t mind I had rather not talk of it,” she 
said. “You understand I was with them for ten years 
and know what all you have told me must mean to' the 
House. I admired their cleverness. They were clever; 
until now the cleverest I have ever known. That was 
why I stayed. You must have understood it when you 
made that proposition to me long ago. I believe there 
is just one thing in this world that means anything to 
me, and that is ability.” Some way she had so strongly 
impressed Henley with the truth of this, that his self- 
love impelled him almost to extravagance in his effort 
to win her admiration. The fear that he had not com- 
pelled her fully to recognise the greatness of his exploits, 
still disturbed him, worried his breathing. 


IN HIGH PLACES 


246 


“It is not precisely the thing for me to sympathise 
with what you have done, but I like to witness extraor- 
dinary things now and then. It seems to me you are in a 
way to — to consummate the deal with Baron Erleicher, 
yourself.” And she looked admiringly at him. 

“Well, I don’t need Erleicher,” he said, and she 
made mental note of this. 

“But after all, all the American copper, except the 
Ophrosis , is owned to-day by D., W. & S. If you 
can handle Mr. Drayton and — ” Henley smiled. 

“Well, if I can’t, I can stop their little game, and 
meantime own the Ophrosis . They are badly hurt, 
and I guess it is for them to get out as well as they 
can.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I don’t know but that’s so. I 
like your methods,” she said suddenly, in a different 
tone, and then checked herself, as if a little ashamed of 
the utterance. “I don’t mean to rejoice in their mis- 
fortunes and am really more interested in my own 
affairs and — ” she smiled and noticed that he had not 
touched his glass since it last had been filled. She held 
up her own: 

“The OphrosisV ’ she said, and smiled; and he 
couldn’t help but respond. She emptied her glass for 
the first time, and the manner of it implied that he was 
to empty his. He had already emptied it a good many 
times. Jean looked at the waiter and her glass was 
made full again; Henley’s, also, was refilled. He let 
it stand awhile, but every moment the desire to make 
Jean Merideth know and acknowledge his cleverness 
grew upon him. Her slight but meaning recognition 
stimulated his vanity. He was beginning to feel fit: 
a thing he seldom felt just before or after dinner. She 
casually clasped the bowl of her champagne glass, fairly 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


247 


covering it with her hand while she spoke in a concen- 
trated manner: 

“As a fact,” she hesitated, and appeared abstractedly 
to sip her champagne, but her hand on the bowl covered 
the result if there was any. “As a fact — I — You hardly 
know how extraordinary your — your performance has 
been,” she said finally, lifting her eyes with a meditative 
little corrugation of the brow. “You see — in a single 
stroke you have undone five years’ hard work by the old 
firm. Here! we must be magnanimous,” she smiled 
and lifted her glass again. “That they may recover!” 
And Henley drank without hesitation. He set his glass 
down empty and the waiter looked after it. Jean’s hand 
was still about the bowl of hers. Suddenly Henley 
expressed himself under compulsion. Compulsion, of 
what he didn’t know! But why should he remain silent? 
Why shouldn’t this beautiful woman know how truly 
great he was? There were at least two reasons why he 
should tell her: First, because he ought to be appre- 
ciated; then because he was in love with her after his 
fashion, and she ought to know all the advantages to be 
derived of his affection. 

“If a man had a woman like you to — to exercise his 
genius for” — He leaned across the table and looked 
meaningly at her. She was embarrassed and raised her 
glass to cover the situation. Henley’s arm had begun 
to work almost automatically by that time, and he 
drank. “A man’s genius is nothing to him, unless there 
is the right woman to — to” — As nearly drunk as he was, 
still he did not seem to get on very well. But he was 
conscious that his “genius” was the safe subject to ex- 
ploit. “See here!” he said with quick resolve; “this 
matter of copper isn’t a drop in the bucket! I want 
to tell you: I’ve done up Drayton, all right; but when 


248 


IN HIGH PLACES 


you know the truth — I’ve done so much bigger a thing — 
I’ve pooled interests with Hulot et Cie! Even copper — 
the Heyse mine — has become insignificant. It’s no 
harm to tell you — wouldn’t be under any circumstances, 
with you — but it’s a thing already accomplished. I’m 
in with the Hulots I say, and copper isn’t worth a curse, 
except to hypothecate!” He laughed and leaned back, 
drunkenly triumphant. Jean honestly drank her cham- 
pagne upon this occasion, while her hand trembled 
slightly. “That found you, didn’t it?” he exclaimed 
eagerly, thickly noting her tremor, “but it’s true. 
And you shall share — I — ” he rose and so did Jean. 
“I’ve gone in with Hulot on a deal which makes copper 
look like a corner grocery ” 

“ Hypothecated the Ophrosis stocks, with them.” 

“Yes!” he said, moving toward her — “I guess you 
see now what I’ve got! ” 

“Yes, yes! to the Ophrosis ! Hulots and you!” she 
cried, and Henley emptied his glass, unconscious that 
with her at his side, he was at the same time moving 
toward the door. There seemed, to his confused mind, 
a promise in her last two words. He was saying some- 
thing, which he afterward tried to recall, as, to his 
surprise, he went from the room. Once she had got him 
the other side of her door, Jean Merideth sat down with 
her face in her hands. It was but a moment stolen 
from an hour which should become historic to her. 

Hulots — that was the house Fremier had warned her 
against. He had said that morning at the Frascati that 
they were unsafe. There was certainly no such sus- 
picion in Henley’s mind. She pressed her hands over 
her eyes, and tried to think it out. The Ophrosis stocks 
were with the Hulots. The Hulots were in a bad way 
— perhaps! 


WHEN JEAN GOT TO WORK 


* 49 


She took a cab to Fremier 's. Some rout was in pro- 
gress when she arrived at his hotel and she drove to a 
side entrance. It was then not quite midnight. She sent 
the first servant she saw for Madame Fremier or her 
husband, and went into Fremier's study, above. It was 
Fremier, himself, who came in, and seeing her in dinner 
gown, began to chide her for being in Paris and yet not 
their guest. 

“You haven't come off the train!" he said. “Then 
why aren’t you stopping with us?" 

“I don’t know," she answered — “But do you recall a 
conversation we had in the Frascati? You cautioned 
me against the Hulots. Is that true?" 

“Yes," Fremier answered. “Yes! Let them alone. 
If you think of any investment through them — drop 
it." Fremier was very earnest. The family had 
known Jean for many years, and regarded their 
relations as somewhat closer than those of ordinary 
friendship. 

“This is not known nor to be known," he Continued. 

“ It is going to be known," she replied, looking steadily 
at him. He returned the gaze, appearing troubled and 
inquisitive. 

“Jean — I can't afford to have it known that 
I have " 

“ It will never be known that you have leaked," she 
said; “but I am going to use that information. I am 
telling you, because I — I can’t do it unless you under- 
stand it. But I would use this information if the earth 
were to open and swallow us as a penalty. I am going 
to use it," and she tentatively held out her hand. 
Fremier took it and held it. 

“ I can’t bear to lose my friends," she said. 

“I do not believe you will involve your friends — in 


250 


IN HIGH PLACES 


trouble/ ’ he answered, still with an anxious note in his 
tone. 

“You have no relations with them? You are not 
in finance, but in politics ?” She questioned. 

“That is all true; and I do not care particularly; 
only — as a politician I cannot afford to ” 

“No one will know where this came from,” she said. 
“Good-night,” and while Fremier was trying to frame 
a sentence, she was gone. 

On the way back to her hotel she sent the cable to 
Wolfschon, and then sat down in her room, to wait 
for a reply. 


CHAPTER XIX 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 

EARS after, Jean Merideth could recall one dom- 



Ji inant detail of the night that followed. It was 
an odour: the odour of stale coffee, and coffee in com- 
bination with cream as Henley preferred it. 

She had sat the night through near the table where 
they had dined, and which still bore the coffee service; 
the cups with their penetrating smell of the heeltap, 
which at moments sought out her senses and sickened 
her. But she still sat there, head on hands, elbows on 
table, the soft beauties of her flesh-coloured gown all a 
frou-frou about her feet; her black hair, unfailingly 
coronetted in fine sleek masses about her head; un- 
dishevelled, elegant, even when a dreary daylight sifted 
into the room and revealed her as she was: waiting for 
the moment of somebody’s action; enduring a nervous 
tension almost to breaking point, and Drayton, Drayton, 
Drayton, a ghostly figure ever passing before her inner 
eye. 

Perhaps the most real distraction of the year had 
been her inability to do something for him. It is 
mostly thus that well-poised women love. To go mad 
for a man, or to take oneself out of the world in erratic 
fashion, did not appeal to Jean as a suitable expression of 
a serious passion. To her mind, it implied a love too 
indiscriminating, too unadjusted. She lived always in 
the hope and certainty that if she waited long enough, 
with all her best forces conserved, expended on nothing 


252 


IN HIGH PLACES 


less than Drayton, she should live to serve him again — 
maybe in some unimportant way but yet to serve him. 
To serve him once would be a very great compensation, 
but to serve him eternally would adjust all emotional 
and sentimental values for her. Now that the moment 
had come she breathed with care, lest she spoil 
her opportunity. 

All the possibilities of failure, rather than the proba- 
bilities of success passed processionally through her 
mind during the night; and nearly all night she sat 
awaiting the message from Wolfschon which should 
warrant her action. When the message had finally 
come, she had risen from the table, all of the time with 
the nausea of nervousness upon ‘her emphasised by the 
penetrating smell of the heeltaps of coffee, and had tried 
to start her useful intelligence. She could not take a 
cold bath: the thought of cold water startled her, and 
the thought of warm sickened her. She listened for 
some sound which should tell her that people were up 
and at the business of living again. She changed her 
gown, but otherwise she could do none «£ those things 
it is natural to do in the process of marshalling one’s 
forces after hours of painful waiting. 

She appeared to be well-groomed as she had been the 
night before. Her colour was good; no sign as yet of 
pallor. When she became pale, her face was masked 
and death seemed to be upon her. She seldom exhibited 
degrees of weariness: she was strong, vital; or she was 
ill, depressed, hopeless. 

As she returned to the room after changing her gown 
she perceived for the first time that her deadly sickness 
was partly due to the smell of the stale coffee, and she 
rang to have the overnight debris removed. She did 
not order breakfast, but sat again, her hands tightly 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 253 


clasped in her lap, till a little after seven o’clock: then 
she read Wolfschon’s message for the twentieth time: 

“O. K.” was all, and enough. The expression of 
confidence reinspired her. She went below and took a 
cab to the Baron’s hotel. 

When she arrived in the Avenue Gabriel, she found 
that the Baron was not within three hours of leaving 
his bed, and that the old aristocrat could not be dis- 
turbed. She was persistent. 

The Baron had not had his letters that morning? not 
any messages? 

He had not. ‘‘Then take this card to him — and his 
letters. There will be a cablegram for him and it is 
most important. I shall wait,” she said, in a tone 
that admitted of no doubt. Meantime she had scribbled 
a line upon her card. 

The Baron read first her card and then Wolfschon’s 
message which requested him to deal with Jean Merideth 
as with the firm. He was worshipful of his son, but at 
present Erleicher was outraged by what he believed to 
be the mismanagement of an important affair. If 
Erleicher was fond, he was also feudal; and he had no 
mind to save Drayton, Wolfschon & Stebbins for 
sentiment’s sake; more than that: they had been too 
sure of themselves — and of him. In this mood the Baron 
rose and went below, then stood elegantly, looking from 
Wolfschon’s message to Jean, and his expression was a 
little cynical and his manner too impressive to promise 
a friendly relation. But Jean didn’t feel it. She had 
two degrees of temperature. 

“I am Jean Merideth,” she said; “for ten years I was 
Mr. Drayton’s private secretary. I know every detail 
of the business of Drayton, Wolfschon & Stebbins. 
Every stone in the house is dear to me. I have their 


254 


IN HIGH PLACES 


confidence to-day as I always had it. Their affairs are 
as important to me as they ever were — and their 's were 
the only matters of importance I ever knew. They are 
in trouble. You have had correspondence through 
me for their house ; also, I have a small account with you: 
forty thousand, eight hundred and seventy-two dollars 
and ten cents. You can identify me as the woman whom 
Mr. Wolfschon has endorsed in the cablegram you hold 
in your hand. I am no longer in their employ.” She 
paused for him to speak. 

41 It is a pity,” he said simply, motioning her to a seat. 
The timbre of her voice and her manner, engaged his 
attention. 44 If you are not the woman in whom Louis 
Wolfschon imposes this extraordinary confidence,” he 
glanced at the message, “yet you speak as she should 
speak.” Jean sat, upon the Baron's indication, but she 
rose again, almost immediately. 

44 1 cannot sit,” she said. 44 Gibson Henley has hypoth- 
ecated the stock of the Heyse mine with Hulot & Com- 
pany. Hulot & Company are on the verge of bank- 
ruptcy. Break the market.” 

She was standing and hugging her own shoulders to 
maintain her self-composure. The Baron too had risen 
again. He looked at her for a moment, his lips com- 
pressed, his eyes narrowly searching her as they glinted 
between half-shut lids. 

44 How do you know this?” he asked, presently. 

44 1 know that Henley has hypothecated the stock of 
the Ophrosis because he told me so. Also he told me 
Hulot held the collateral and that he had pooled interests 
with them in such gigantic enterprises that in com- 
parison International was a child's game. But the 
Hulots have milked Henley trying to hold themselves 
together.” 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 


255 


“How do you know the Hulots are in trouble?” he 
asked, leaning slightly forward and toward her: Hulot 
had been his rival and enemy for twenty years. 

“Fremier says so.” 

“Fremier? Julien Fremier?” They stood close to- 
gether now. The name had acted like magic upon 
Erleicher. He was rapidly putting this and that 
together. He knew positively that Fremier was a 
tool of the Hulots. 

“You will tell me under what circumstances Julien 
Fremier told you this?” 

“The Fremiers and I are friends. I was going to 
make an investment through the Hulots.” 

“Then it was an act of friendship and Fremier told 
you the truth! I know it is the truth!” He had not 
known it a moment ago, but now a dozen straws 
pointed the wind. He knew certainly of the political 
relations between Fremier and Hulot. He looked at 
her again thoughtfully: 

“And will you tell me how Henley came to tell you 
that he had hypothecated that stock with them?” 

“No,” she said, steadily returning the look. 

“I beg pardon,” he said, and bowed. There was a 
moment's silence. It was intolerable to Jean. 

“I have no friends who are not the friends of Drayton, 
Wolfschon & Stebbins,” she said. And in a sentence 
she had given, without knowing it, the reason why 
Drayton had paid ten thousand a year to a woman to 
remember what he now and then chose to forget. 
Erleicher, looking steadily into her face, said: 

“I understand — perfectly,” and so he did. 

“You mean to act?” He was curling Wolfschon’s 
cablegram between his fingers. 

“Yes,” he answered. “You have had your coffee?” 


256 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“ I cannot," she replied. He hesitated a moment, then 
moved toward the next room, motioning her to precede 
him. The Ophrosis mine! — he would look after that — 
for Jean — yes, and for Wolf, whom nevertheless he 
enjoyed disciplining a little; but what the Baron's mind 
was occupied with in this moment was a thing far more 
personal to himself. He held his enemy in his hand ! 

The business day was not yet begun, but the Baron 
was to begin it. Upon entering the library with Jean 
he rang his bell and it was answered by his secretary. 

11 Get the wire busy," he said, and in his turn the 
secretary rang the bell. “Now call up Bernhardoff," 
and the secretary went to the telephone as the door 
opened and the man who entered went to the telegraph 
instrument which occupied a little cabinet off the 
library. When the connection at the telephone was 
made the Baron said: 

“Start rumour that a great banking house is in 
trouble." And his secretary repeated the words over 
the telephone. “That is all for the present and the 
rest of my instructions will go over the wire." The 
secretary also repeated this and then hung up the 
receiver. 

“ Now Madame," the Baron said, “we shall have some 
coffee. We shall have it here. It is too early to do 
business. It is fully an hour before the opening of the 
Bourse. Jean’s desperate mood was impressing him 
unfavourably. It was arousing solicitude for her. 
When the coffee was served, with it came curly 
pieces of bacon which seemed at once to claim the 
Baron's attention. 

He looked across at Jean with a charming smile: 

“ From my own farm," he said, “cured by an American 
process." 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 


257 


“The Ophrosis stock will be thrown on the market ?” 
she asked, her eyes following his slightest movement, yet 
seeing little. Her ears comprehending nothing at all 
that did not pertain to her idee fixe . 

“ Probably not. Have you slept?” and he regarded 
her over his pince nez. 

“No,” she answered. “But it is all quite possible?” 
she persisted. 

“Quite!” He wondered which it was — Drayton, 
Wolfschon or Stebbins. No woman was in it for the 
game — he hoped. 

“Coffee, Madame! ” and his smile was rare, delightful, 
which half closed his dark and piercing eyes and softened 
the otherwise immobile lines about his mouth. “Coffee? 
— to please me! and to please you, I will trouble the 
market, break the bank, ruin Henley and secure the 
Ophrosis stock immediately after breakfast.” 

“Yes,” she said, and touched her cup; but she could 
not soften her tones which sounded tight and metallic 
even in her own ears. He was all the while regarding 
her furtively and with anxiety. Suddenly he leaned 
across the service: 

“Did you ever hear anyone say: ‘play easy — as if 
the game were won?’ ” 

“Yes,” she said; “Mr. Wolfschon!” (the Baron 
decided it was not he!). 

“And you were ten years within hearing of Louis 
Wolfschon, yet did not acquire his office habit. To 
believe, is half the game, Madame!” and he smiled at 
her again, reassuringly. “This is the bacon of Paradise 
I assure you; and I also remind you that I am an old 
man who must have his breakfast or bio w # away.” And 
he put hot milk into his cup. 

“When you have saved Monsieur Drayton?” the fine 


IN HIGH PLACES 


258 

old gossip paused, “and Stebbins?" no response, '‘you 
will be too exhausted to enjoy their triumph." 

“They will not be too exhausted to enjoy it," she 
answered, trying to respond, but her effort was painful. 

“ It is one of them” he speculated within himself — “and 
it can't be Stebbins." No one ever thought of anyone as 
loving Stebbins. 

The hour dragged; then of a sudden the telegraph 
instrument clicked, the Baron's head rose and he seemed 
to sniff the air. Jean left her chair, all a-tremor. 

“Sit, Madame! Sit! we can ruin people as well at 
our ease, as standing"; and he turned his head to listen 
to the click of the instrument, and his orders, given 
shortly and sharply, betrayed the tremendous meaning 
which the operation had for him. Frequently they 
spoke together, but seldom more than a word: the minds 
of both busy with detail and a mutual understanding. 
Toward noon the hard click of the telegraph fairly con- 
centrated the Baron’s attention. A message was hardly 
transmitted when the operator looked at the Baron for 
instruction. Erleicher’s eyes had begun to glint between 
narrowed lids, while he laughed silently, provocatively, 
with a movement of the shoulders. He turned to Jean: 

“Very good! they say it is Erleicher’s that is going to 
the wall." Then, to the operator “Say — No! I will 
say!" and he took the key, still laughing his silent 
irresistible laugh, and clicked off his own directions. 
Then he stood adjusting his pince nez and looking at 
Jean: “Laugh! Why do you not laugh? Alas! the 
ladies have no sense of humour"; and he shook his head 
and returned to his chair, still laughing. But Jean could 
not speak: the day's work should mean ruin or safety 
for Drayton; and in time the Baron, himself, began to 
assimilate her mood, while all the atmosphere was 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 


259 


electric. Again the instrument sounded sharply. It 
was like a voice to them. 

“Ah!” he said, interpreting the message; “that will 
start them,” he announced with bland satisfaction. 
Erleicher going to pieces! — Easterns thrown on the 
market! — Now I think rumour will have something to 
talk of”; all the while listening to the message coming 
over the line. Jean kept opening and closing her fingers. 
If only there were a ticker: a thing she, too, could under- 
stand even as the telegraph spoke to the Baron! As it 
was, she must sit and listen to that which for her was 
meaningless, and there were moments now when the 
Baron forgot to interpret for her, and she must sit silently 
and watch this seasoned old Machiavelli enjoy himself 
in his silent mirthless laughter. 

Then suddenly he stood up, his action so full of 
meaning that simultaneously she too rose and went 
toward the machine. 

“Well?” she said impatiently, her nerves going off 
at a tangent. 

“ My stocks! some of my favourite stocks! — Some that 
Hulot stole — twenty years ago! Southeastern ! — the 
Hussards beat me in that deal! All — every share!” 
he called to the operator — “and the South American — 
that too ! Their chickens are coming home to roost and 
my stocks to me.” He himself was at the machine, and 
took the key again, only to release it to the operator 
according to his fancy. The man at the key had sat 
under the Baron's eye and methods for so long that he, 
the machine and Erleicher were as one, acting synchro- 
nously. “The Hulots — everybody are unloading,” he 
said; “it's bargain day on the Bourse.” His shoulders 
moved again with a fine and silent joy. “Buy them 
up,” he called. “Buy them up! It’s a charity.” And 


260 


IN HIGH PLACES 


there was drollery in his tone. He looked at Jean and 
she tried to smile. He put his hands on her shoulders. 

“Enjoy yourself! enjoy yourself — else why are we 
doing this?” 

‘ ‘ The Ophrosis ’ 9 

“Shall be — ” but the click of the instrument sounded. 
“Ah! now we are getting it! It is confirmed — it is the 
Baron — it is Erleicher who is going bankrupt and carry- 
ing Europe with him! Oh, rumour, rumour! ” and he rose 
and fell on his toes, pointing his long thin fingers together 
and narrowing his eyes. Instantly the memory of Wolf- 
schon passed before the sensitive plate of Jean’s mind. 

“The Baron is going bankrupt, Madame! The house 
of Erleicher! If this news reaches across the water, 
Louis Wolfschon must be troubled,” and the old man 
lightly crossed the floor and returned, pausing beside 
Jean. “Buy now,” he called; then to Jean: “My 
darling stock which Hussard stole has lost its prestige — 
is off forty points. Shame, Shame! Hussard — I must 
rescue it — to-morrow! To-morrow it shall again take 
its place in the world. Buy! — The Southeastern, too. 
When men want to sell, they should be accommodated,” 
and his shoulders moved with his unechoing laugh. Jean 
stood at the operator’s elbow. 

“But the copper ” 

“Take it easy — we’ll change the rumour now, if you 
should say so. Do you say that we shall change the 
rumour — as easy to change as one’s shirt! Shall we 
change the rumour?” He spoke whimsically, full to 
the brim with satisfaction. 

“Do something!” she cried, clasping her hands 
spasmodically. 

“ Do something? ’’ His eyes widened startlingly. “ It 
is America that speaks! 4 Do something! ’ Can I never 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 261 


satisfy her?” and again that contagious but mirthless 
tremor of his shoulders. '‘Very good! We shall ‘do 
something’ at last. We’ll change the rumour. We 
shall rumour that it is — Hulot — eh ? Hulot ? Erleicher 
now is tired of bankruptcy. Now it shall be Hulot. It 
is Hulot! ” he called and the two machines in the cabinet 
responded. “Via! What now shall we have Hulot 
do? ” and he referred to her again, his tone still whimsical. 

“Sell the Ophrosis .” 

“Liberty! Liberty!” and he shook his head and 
went to the telegraph. “Now hear the house of Hulot 
drop,” he said, looking around about her, and his wide- 
open eyes narrowed again and gleamed. There was no 
sound for a moment. The two stood looking at each 
other. Jean’s face had become pale and mask-like, the 
Baron’s was gradually losing its shrewd humour. In its 
place there was growing a glitter of the eyes; a hard 
immobility about the mouth. “Now!” he said, under 
his breath, and he struck the operator’s hand from the 
key. He would himself utter the message that should 
wreck the Hulots, and the thought that it would save 
his son was for the moment secondary. 

The operator sat motionless, his mind mechanically 
registering the message. He cared nothing. The secre- 
tary stood with his hand on the telephone desk, his head 
turned toward the group: he was nervous and in training 
for the fight one day to be made on his own account. 
Jean stood clasping the back of the operator’s chair, her 
face ghost- white framed in her black hair. Erleicher ’s 
face hardened every instant and he did not take his 
finger from the key. Staring at each other, each lost in 
his own purpose, their eyes did not again stray. Pres- 
ently he nodded: hardly a perceptible action. Her eyes 
told that she understood. 


262 


IN HIGH PLACES 


44 Copper ?” she said, in a low voice; and again 
Erleicher's expression changed. It was malignant. 

44 It is no longer the game,” he said shortly. 44 Copper? 
Copper?” derisively; “it ceased to be Copper when I 
took this key.” Every moment he was writing. 44 It 
is Hulot — Hulots — Hulot et Cie! And I am sending 
them to hell with every twitch of my finger!” 

The Jew's tone was not possible of description. It was 
the war of two thousand years concentrated in a vibra- 
tion, and all the feel of five generations of fortune was 
rioting in his veins. Oriental, primitive, with the advan- 
tages of an over-civilisation to render him irresistible! 
He held her bound by the malignancy of his eye, the re- 
lentlessness of his tone, and she felt that worlds were tum- 
bling about her ears — and all the while it was Louis 
Wolfschon, as he should be a quarter of a century hence. 
A nightmare was upon her, through which and over all 
the prize for which she at that moment lived and had 
her being, spelled itself in every sound from the key. 

“Copper?” she whispered, touching his arm; he was 
looking through and through her, unconscious that she 
was there and his answer was given mechanically: 

44 You shall have it.” 

44 Nothing happens.” 

44 Everything happens.” 

4 4 It is in the market ? ' ' She looked about. She would 
have given a thousand dollars for an American machine 
from which she too might read fate. She was growing 
cold and her hands shook upon the Baron's arm, and 
then the telephone rang. He still used the key, but 
his head was turned toward his secretary. 

44 Hulot,” the man said, and put his hand over the 
mouthpiece. 44 You are here?” 

44 1 am here,” the Baron answered; and at that instant. 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 263 


as if a miracle had wrought, his features relaxed, he 
laid his hand gently, warmly over Jean’s hand. His 
face was kind, full of solicitude. 

“All is over,” he said, to reassure her “Sit a little, 
then you shall wait in the next room. 

“The Ophrosis ” 

“You have made me young a moment in my old, old 
age,” he said. “I forget nothing,” but even as he 
spoke, she knew that the moment of youth was passed. 
A revenge consummated was as naught to such a man 
as he. Revenge in process — there had been his Paradise! 

Promptly Hulot’s card followed his message, and then 
the Baron motioned her with a smile, toward the cur- 
tained doorway. The arm he laid across her shoulders 
did not tremble; there was no more sign of the tremen- 
dous emotion of the preceding moments, than if it had 
never been. Then his secretary closed the door between 
the cabinet and the library, and as Hulot entered he 
went out. 

“Well, Hulot?” Erleicher was standing at his table, 
and looked uninterestedly at the ruined banker. Hulot 
in turn looked long at him but there was no sign in 
Erleicher’s face. 

“You understand, Erleicher, that you cannot reap the 
benefit of your day’s work, unless you stop the panic.” 
Erleicher laughed, and passed his hand over his eyes. 
He was tired. 

“I have reaped it,” he said, and Hulot understood 
perfectly. “But no matter — go on, go on,” and his 
manner was indulgent. 

“You will save us. We’ve pledged the Heyse mine 
to save ourselves to-day. If we don’t get help before 
opening to-morrow, that goes too and every body goes with 
us.” It occurred to Erleicher that he was getting old. 


264 


IN HIGH PLACES 


However, he remembered the woman in the next room ; 
moreover, he was a financier from long habit. Of 
course, Hulots were to be looked after before matters 
reached a pass where nobody could pay one's debts. 

‘‘Well?" he said, his obvious indifference to his 
revenge far worse to Hulot in that moment than 
bankruptcy. 

4 ‘The Henley stocks — the Ophrosis — we’ve pledged 
to-day in New York, as collateral; and you'll have to 
take up the loan." 

"You've milked the American pretty dry?" He 
was painfully trying to get some anti- climactic enjoy- 
ment out of the situation, but couldn't. 

"His house has gone, of course, trying to save his 
copper property. But he engineered the loan for us over 
there, just after noon." 

"I know the time," Erleicher said, a little impatient 
of details. Hulot's mouth twitched. He was looking 
badly. As a fact Hulot had less than a week to live — 
which wouldn't have disturbed Erleicher had he known it, 
any more than it disturbed him when he heard that he 
was dead. 

Erleicher rose and it was a sign to Hulot. 

"I'll take up the loan over there to-morrow through 
Drayton, Wolfschon & Stebbins; in return, I’ll make 
you solvent. I’ll see that your stocks are worth thirty to 
forty points more to-morrow than they are to-day. 
Well?" he waited, but Hulot had nothing to say. He 
looked at the Jew, started to speak, closed his lips tightly, 
as he felt them become tremulous, and slowly shook his 
head. Hulot was hurt unto death; and underlying all 
was the eternal race hatred which had fed for two thou- 
sand years upon just this superior power which crushed 
and saved, grew fierce and wonderfully tender while 


AND FINALLY, WHEN SHE LOVES 265 


the neutral Gentile was drawing his even breath — these 
things, and the secret of waiting. 

Hulot went away. 

Glancing toward the curtains, Erleicher paused a 
moment , then he opened them. J ean stood in the middle 
of the floor looking toward him. 

‘‘You heard?” he asked, smiling at her. Then play- 
fully shaking his head: 

‘‘You’ve ruined many people to-day.” 

‘‘I’ve saved him,” she answered; and suddenly she 
wept, bitterly. Even so, the Baron had not found out 
which it was: Drayton, Wolfschon or Stebbins. 


CHAPTER XX 


AS TO THAT AND OTHER DETAILS 

S TEBBINS was on a Marconi boat, and the bulletins 
left so little to the imagination that Stebbins 
nearly died. For once he couldn’t talk. The smash in 
Paris, the copper loan taken up by his own house in 
New York! Stebbins went into his cabin and laydown. 
During the few days that followed, he often opened his 
mouth to a fellow passenger with intent to relieve his 
feelings, but discreetly shut it again. He thought if 
that boat didn’t dock and he get where Wolfschon and 
Drayton were, he should jump into the sea. They were 
ruined! the next hour they were saved. Credit pre- 
served — and oh, how much that credit meant to the 
three men who had wrought together, tirelessly, 
for fifteen years to the end of a great and impregnable 
concern ! 

Stebbins got to New York toward four o’clock on a 
Saturday, and he fell into a cab which deposited him at 
the offices a few minutes later. He didn’t stop to look 
after baggage — besides, Stebbins never had any baggage. 

Wolfschon happened to be crossing a corridor when 
Stebbins entered. The men looked at each other. As 
a matter of fact Stebbins was nearly ill. The reaction 
had knocked him out. Especially since it had come 
to him under conditions where he couldn’t talk about it 
to someone. Wolfschon stopped and looked over his 
pince nez — he wore his precisely as did his father, the 
Baron. 


266 


AS TO THAT AND OTHER DETAILS 267 


“So you were on a Marconi boat?” he said after a 
moment, during which neither had spoken; then a grin 
began to overspread the Wolfschon features. And he 
opened a door through which he and Stebbins disap- 
peared. Within, they stood looking at each other. 

“Drayton?” Stebbins asked, wetting his lips with 
his tongue. Then he threw his arms about Wolfschon, 
and the two men began to laugh. 

“My God! my God!” he said, and still he couldn’t 
talk. 

“I — I— -can’t talk Wolf,” he gasped miserably, but 
Wolfschon was teetering about on his toes. 

“Well, you’ll get going pretty soon,’’ said Wolfsch6n, 
“and then you’ll haff a good time.” 

“You see Wolf, I didn’t care if we were going all to 
hell — but my God, it’s nice to be saved!” And Wolfschon 
nodded. 

“How did you stand it, all alone?” 

“ Well,” Wolfschon said again, “there wass Repecca — 
she helps a man bear it pretty well,” and he put Jean 
Merideth’s cable and several from the Baron, into Steb- 
bins’s hands. “I wish we could get at Drayton,” he said 
presently. “And when Miss Merideth comes” — the 
Baron had mentioned in a cable that she was sailing — 
“I’m going to meet her mit an elephant for her to ride up- 
on.” He rang a bell. “You report anything that 
docks to-night,” he said, “up at my house. There is a 
boat from Southampton due,” and he went up home, 
leaving Stebbins to recover and to read and re-read the 
cablegram from Jean and the Baron’s several messages. 

When at five o’clock nothing had occurred, Stebbins 
too left the office and went to his club, with the cable- 
grams still in his pocket. He couldn’t separate himself 
from them. The clerk remained till seven o’clock, but 


268 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Drayton didn’t dock till ten minutes after, and the 
Southampton boat came up the bay a little later. When 
Drayton stepped from the yacht, which was docked at 
the Battery, he said to Rosalie: 

“I shall dine at the Club,” and he put her into a cab 
with her maid, and cat — the basket lined with reseda — 
and had started them off uptown almost before she 
realised in the confusion of arrival what had happened; 
then Drayton stood a moment, looking after them 
through the early summer evening, not knowing quite 
what he meant to do. They had come up at the 
Battery, and Drayton walked slowly through the Park. 
He wished to go to the office, but aside from his whim, 
there was no occasion for him to go, hence he turned his 
face resolutely uptown. At City Hall he took the 
Subway and later got off, only to walk toward 
his club. 

Stebbins was at that moment ordering his dinner. 
Drayton joined him — had to. There was nothing else 
to do, obviously, but Drayton was not thinking of Steb- 
bins nor of business. 

“How’s Wolf?” he asked, before he had fairly sat 
down. 

“You get fixed at the table — better get a drink, too, 
and I’ll empty the office into your ears.” Stebbins was 
suppressing himself as best he could, but there was action 
in the atmosphere. 

* 4 Anything wrong — or — worse ? ’ ’ Drayton asked , 
with a lightning glance peculiar to him — a glance which 
in passing always encompassed all that was on the 
surface and something of what was below. 

“I’m mighty glad you’ve got home. Good weather?” 
he asked perfunctorily. 

“I don’t know. What about it?” 


AS TO THAT AND OTHER DETAILS 269 


“In a minute — in a minute — here, bring us something 
— Rickey for mine” — and he looked at Drayton, who 
nodded mechanically at the waiter. 

“Go ahead,” he said, with just a touch of irritation. 
“I don’t really care if the whole confounded plant has 
gone to Hades. Go ahead.” Stebbins pulled the cable 
and the memoranda from his pocket and spread them 
out. Drayton was watching almost without interest. 

“That,” said Stebbins, laying one white, blue-ruled 
and illuminated slip before Drayton, “is the first.” 
Drayton glanced as per habit, first at the signature, and 
as he did so, his hand mechanically sought the drink 
the waiter was depositing beside him. He lifted it and 
then set it down. 

“Er — whiskey,” he said, and then folded his arms 
close, hugging them to him on the table, and bent his 
head over the paper. 

“All right,” he said after a minute and not looking 
up. Stebbins successively shoved the other papers in 
the case under his nose, Drayton not once lifting his head. 
After he had stared for some time at the last one — 
Wolfschon’s memorandum — Stebbins became impatient. 
Drayton certainly wasn’t still reading. 

Stebbins could hardly endure it. No one could do 
worse by Stebbins than to suppress his feelings. Just 
then Drayton’s whiskey came and he drank it, folding 
the papers and putting them in his own pocket. He 
said nothing. 

“You’re alike as two peas,” Stebbins said irritably. 
“I found her at breakfast over there and told her of 
Henley — and she didn’t say anything, either. I under- 
stand — things knock a fellow all out, but damn it, Dray- 
ton, talk.” 

“All right,” he said, his lips feeling dry and he not 


270 


IN HIGH PLACES 


daring to lift his hands above the table at the moment, 
lest Stebbins should see how they shook. 

As for Stebbins, he wiped his face; the sweat stood 
upon it in great beads. He sat looking about the room 
at his fellow diners a moment, and then he leaned across 
the table. “Drayton, did you ever hear anything like 
it! We were right up tight against it, and now 99 

Drayton nodded, still looking at the tablecloth and 
not trusting himself to move much. “I know nothing. 
I’ve just got in, ,, he said after a moment. 

“Drayton, there has been the damnedest revolution 
over there in the market for twenty-four hours that you 
ever heard of,” Stebbins said hoarsely. 

“I guess so — to judge from these memoranda,” Dray- 
ton answered absently. 

Stebbins again wiped his face, and caught some man’s 
nod, and nodded back without knowing it. Then after 
a moment: 

“She’s ruined — a lot of people,” he interjected after 
awhile. Drayton didn’t say anything. “She’s ruined 
a lot of people,” he repeated, trying to adjust Jean’s 
deed in his mind. As financiers, Drayton, Wolfschon 
& Stebbins were almost honest. They made it a 
point to ruin only their confreres. 

“She has given us — the alliance with Erleicher — She 
has given us life,” Drayton said, under his breath. After 
a moment: “I can’t eat anything, Stebbins. I’m 
going,” and Stebbins nodded, not thinking it queer under 
the circumstances. Anyway Drayton wouldn’t talk, 
and Stebbins had to talk to somebody about something, 
or go crazy. The dinner was brought, but Stebbins 
couldn’t eat anything either, so he sat there thinking it 
over and fidgeting; the club being as good a place to do 
it in on a June night as any he knew. 


AS TO THAT AND OTHER DETAILS 271 


Drayton went out and walked as he had on that night 
after Jean Merideth first had gone away. Walked with- 
out any purpose but motion, and as on that other night, 
he found himself in the neighbourhood of the offices. 

It was not very late, but it was after dark. He 
walked up Wall Street, and near the corner he mechani- 
cally noted that Trinity pointed to nine and a few 
minutes more. He was continuing toward Broadway, 
when he suddenly turned and swung off toward Broad 
again, and this time halted when he reached the office 
building. Drayton entered; his thoughts were above, 
in the room where he and the woman had sat side by 
side for many years : through all the years before he had 
known her voice to be “deep down in her chest — like a 
cello,’ ’ before he had ever learned that his workwoman 
could be considered beautiful by anyone, long before he 
had given her any place whatever among women. All 
the way down through the city, as he walked, his mind 
had been busy and fevered with ten thousand details, 
details which put her before him in the great white light 
of a supreme love. Drayton had discovered himself, 
had stolen up unaware upon himself. He loved her, 
loved her, loved her — and Rosalie had never been. 
The door of his room was open, and only the light from 
the electric lamp which shone above the roof outside 
broke the darkness ; but through the shadow he saw her 
there, her arms flung across his table, but her head 
raised: she had heard his step and known it since he had 
stepped from the elevator. Neither spoke nor moved. 
After a moment he said gently: 

“You have done what I would not have done.” 

“Yes,” she said simply, “or I wouldn’t have done 
it,” meaning something quite understood by Drayton. 

“I love you — above everything in this world,” he 


IN HIGH PLACES 


272 

said, after a moment. She stood up, and put her hand 
to her throat. 

“I didn't know," she answered with an effort, and 
after a pause: “Everything — is all right" — she said, 
looking about, and starting toward him — which was also 
toward the door. Drayton moved for her to pass out, 
and then stood listening as she went down the corridor; 
and in turn he heard her feet upon the marble of the main 
hall ; heard her go down the long flights of shallow steps, 
through the silence of the great building; and then he 
went and sat at his desk. The firm’s watch came to 
Drayton’s door once during the night, and as Drayton 
heard him approach, he called: 

“All right — it is only I." And the watchman had 
said: 

“Yes, sir," and hadn’t gone up again. 

Drayton threw himself on the divan in the inner room 
just at five o’clock and slept three hours. At eight 
o’clock he went out and got some breakfast, and was 
breakfasting when Wolfschon reached the office — which 
was unduly early, since he knew that a steamer had 
arrived and docked at seven-twenty the night before. 
He didn’t believe anything had happened, but then 
something ought to, and he wanted to be downtown 
anyhow. Stebbins had gone home — or some place ; and 
had passed the night asleep — or somehow; satisfied 
with pretty much everything in the world. He didn’t 
trouble himself to get up aforetime in the morning, and 
Was not down within two hours of Wolfschon’s arrival. 
Ten minutes after Wolfschon entered his office, Drayton 
followed. He was steady, refreshed, but the truth 
lingered somewhere about him. Stebbins would not 
penetrate it, but when Wolfschon heard of his arrival 
and opened his door, and clasped Drayton’s hands and 


AS TO THAT AND OTHER DETAILS 


2 73 


heard his voice, that instinct which made of the partners 
men of truly great genius inspired Wolfschon to know 
that something special had happened to Drayton. 
Maybe a boy!— he thought on a sudden, and just at 
that moment Drayton put the memoranda, and the 
cablegram which Stebbins had given him, back into 
Wolfschon’s hand. 

“ Pretty good,” he said, briefly. 

“Miss Merideth” — Wolfschon began, and they looked 
at each other. The glance confirmed Wolfschon’s 
thought that something had happened, but he still 
thought it might be a boy, till he got home at four 
o’clock and spoke to Rebecca. 

“I guess it iss a boy, Repecca,” he said, telling her 
all he knew. 

“I guess it” — she paused, tipping her head to one 
side. “ I guess it iss Jean Merideth,” she said, and rose. 
“Where iss she, Louis?” 

“I guess where she always liffed — Ansonia,” he 
answered. “Say, Repecca, do you really think — where 
are you going, Repecca?” he said as she reached the 
door, Wolfschon turning round and talking at her as 
she went. 

“To der Ansonia,” she answered, going on and up the 
stairs. 

“Well, but my Gott — Repecca” — And Wolfschon 
tagged along up the stairs after her and stood about 
while she combed her hair and put on some other clothes. 

“Are you going to call on her — because if you do, you 
tell her ” 

“I don’t know what I am going to do — but I guess 
I am going to maigue her visit us, Louis. Anyway, I 
am going to see her.” She suddenly rose up out of the 
circle of a red petticoat and stood staring at Wolfschon. 


274 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“I’ve just got to look at some woman who loffs some 
man enough to think so quick ligue that, and ruin a 
lot of people," she said. 

4 'That iss bad," Wolfschon said, frowning a little. 
44 That iss the part I don't like " 

44 It iss the part you don't haff to ligue. You don't 
haff to do it. It iss already done! I guess she didn't 
ligue it either — but she had to." And Rebecca put a 
purple silk petticoat over her head and tied the strings 
about her massive waist. 

44 She didn’t haff to" — Wolfschon argued, persistently. 

44 She did if she loffed Drayton — and you needn't say 
that offer to yourself," she admonished; 4 4 it is just my 
guess. You needn't stand there and be so virtuous 
either, Louis! You wouldn’t ruin no people for your- 
self, ligue Jdiat, but now it iss done, you are awful glad 
it hass done you some good." 

44 It issn’t so — but I’m glad Henley's queered," he 
said, and he looked it. 

4 4 You see now that a man's got to have nerve to do 
big things!" Rebecca looked at him. 44 You see," 
Wolfschon argued, nervously avoiding her gaze, 4 4 we’re 
the kind of men — Drayton and I — who can vorg longer 
on an empty stomach than Henley can." And then he 
looked convincingly, triumphantly, at his Rebecca. 

44 1 see what a good thing it iss to have a woman mit 
sense at der office, Louis Wolfschon, and when you feel 
big ligue that, you read the Baron's last letter," she 
remarked as she sailed out, with every ring she owned 
outside the safe deposit on her heavy dark hands. 

Wolfschon scratched his head in quite a common 
manner. 


CHAPTER XXI 


AND FINALLY HOW SHE LOVES 

J EAN was having her tea alone, when Rebecca’s 
card went up. Although she sent back hospita- 
ble word when Rebecca’s card had come to her, and 
simultaneously had given the order for another tea 
service, she was not without a feeling of surprise. She 
did not know Rebecca Wolfschon. She supposed she 
would be glad to know her, however. Certainly she 
was very fond of Wolfschon. She made none of the 
inadvertent motions that belong to womenkind. Her 
hair was in its customary heavy coils, her gown as care- 
fully chosen and adjusted as if she had been receiving 
the Queen of England or — maybe Drayton. When 
Rebecca entered, the women paused a moment to look 
at each other, neither conscious of the instant’s inter- 
mission, and then Jean was as usual: adaptable to the 
occasion. Rebecca was as usual: rich, heavy, contralto, 
benign and shrewd. 

44 I had to come,” she said. 44 1 had to look at a woman 
ligue you.” She smiled and Jean smiled. Smiling was 
not habitual with her, nor even much practised, but 
whenever it occurred, it was an illumination which 
went to another’s soul and mind. Rebecca felt for her 
a new admiration. 

4 4 You are haffing some tea?” she said, looking about. 
44 1 hope you are going to giff me some. I am Louis 
Wolfschon ’s wife — and I think you are the smartest 
woman I effer saw, Miss Merideth,” she said, holding 


276 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Jean’s fine, firm, not too small, hand in both of her own 
dark ones. 

“The fresh tea is coming,” Jean said. “ I don’t think 
I am very wonderful, but I am glad you think so,” and 
she did not quite smile again, but the women looked 
into each other’s eyes understanding^. “If you are 
a good cook, Mrs. Wolfschon, then to me you are a 
wonderful woman, and I dare say you would not under- 
stand why. I have sat in the office of Drayton, Wolf- 
schon & Stebbins for ten years. It would be remarkable 
if I had not absorbed enough of finance to be able to get 
a matter like this adjusted, with all the tools to work 
with.” Rebecca shook her head. “ I alone couldn’t have 
done it you know. I just took the chances on one 
powerful man being kind and another man being stupid.” 

The women took tea, comfortably, seated opposite 
each other. There was a vulgar action of the little 
finger which Rebecca noted in some women at tea-drink- 
ing, and which disturbed her. She was conscious that it 
was not a blemish belonging to Jean. Rebecca was 
supersensitive to certain things. No one would have 
thought it. 

“You are mistaken; I guess you would not be too 
modest to claim the praise coming to you, if you realised 
what you haff done. You shust don’t know.” Rebecca 
nodded decisively, and Jean almost smiled. “I want 
to tell you how Louis iss cut up about ruining so many 
people,” she said, leaning forward and putting her heavy 
hand on Jean’s knee. Jean’s face changed expression. 
She became grave. She nodded once. 

“I want to tell you effery thing and I want to hear 
everything. I used to think I was useful to Louis 
Wolfschon — and I guess I am, but here comes along a 
woman who iss more usefuller than I am.” She smiled 


AND FINALLY— HOW SHE LOVES 277 

largely again at Jean, and the smile seemed so all perva- 
sive that slowly Jean answered back in full: 

“If there iss any woman who can help Louis Wolf- 
schon more than I can, I haff to go look at her. I am glad 
you aren’t a Jewess. I should be jealous of you. Louis 
was awful worried about dos people that got ruined 
while you saffed the office.” Rebecca leaned back and 
suddenly a look of free-masonry passed between the 
women. Both looked serious. 

“It did not distress me — till I returned,” Jean said, 
looking gravely into Rebecca’s eyes. 

“ Not till you found how Drayton loffed you,” Rebecca 
said earnestly. Jean slightly changed her position and 
they sat looking steadily at each other. 

“Not till I found that he loved me,” she said slowly, 
at last. At first she had been startled, though with her 
usual poise she had not reflected her amazement either 
in her expression or in her action. Now she answered 
upon judgment, not upon impulse. 

“Until you found that out, you didn’t see any goot 
coming to you out of it — you were shust where you were 
before. You didn’t expect any happiness — you don’t 
now, I guess! but shust the same it iss now more ligue 
doing it for yourself.” She nodded decisively, “that iss 
why you feel bad now.” 

“I could not have expressed what I feel better than 
that,” she said, putting forth her hand, which Rebecca 
clasped again. The women sat thus, hand in hand, during 
the remainder of Rebecca’s visit, neither at all conscious 
of it. 

There was a slight interrogation in Jean’s eyes, which 
Rebecca presently answered: , 

“I knew it wasn’t Louis, because he iss a Jew — it 
wasn’t suitable; and nobody would loff Steppins, of 


278 


IN HIGH PLACES 


course, so I knew it must be Trowbridge Drayton.” 
Jean slightly nodded. “You don’t think I am intruding 
on your affairs?” Rebecca asked frankly. 

“No.” 

“No, that iss right. I couldn’t do that. I admire 
you so much. I know all about you before I hear of 
you or see you. Now what I haff said about dos poor 
ruined people: it wouldn’t be any use to explain to a 
man — he shust could neffer see. But women — real 
women ligue us — don’t effer haff to explain anything. 
Now we are going away for the summer — right now — 
next week. I come home sometimes because I can’t 
stay from Louis Wolfschon and he can’t stay away from 
me, but still we go away to liff till fall. I guess you are 
going with me.” Jean made a slight dissenting motion 
of the head, but a fine light sprang to her eyes. 
She did not intend to go, yet the pleasant thought of 
being with Rebecca Wolfschon expressed itself in spite 
of her. Besides, she did not wish to conceal anything. 

“Oh yes, you will go. You don’t think so, but I 

guess you will. You see ” she paused and regarded 

the sugar bowl judicially — “I am the only one you can 
talk about Trowbridge Drayton mit — and not say a 
vord. Eh?” Jean rose and crossed the room and 
looked out of the window. “That’s right?” Rebecca 
continued persistently. “He iss at our house half the 
time — you won’t effer see him — in the gountry — ” 
she hastened to add, observing a movement on Jean’s 
part. “ But you will know all I know about him — that 
little way he wears his hair shust a little bid long on the 
top cut — so his hat makes a dent in it — and — oh, all 
the things you haff been noticing those ten years. I 
haff noticed them, and you can talk of him all day and 
neffer speak and you will know it — and I shall be so 


AND FINALLY— HOW SHE LOVES 279 

glad to have you stay with us. I ligue you, and you haff 
done such a wonderful thing for Louis and you’ll ligue 
Maxie — and the baby iss a curly little rascal that loffs 
efferybody. You will be happy and haff a goot time — the 
best time you effer had.” Rebecca was standing up, 
gesticulating and smiling largely, and filling the room 
with good nature and warmth and Orientalism, with 
few of its drawbacks. Jean turned and looked at her. 
She motioned to a chair and Rebecca sat again. 

“A business women and her life are anomalous,” said 
Jean, with a kind of grave particularity in her tone and 
manner. She leaned forward with her elbows on her 
chair, and regarded Rebecca. '‘She is apart from her 
kind. I do not mean she has no woman friends: she 
has, and those friendships are likely to be a good deal 
closer, more tenacious, and less said on the subject than 
are friendships between women of another sort. When 
such women do come together, it is a good deal like 
Crusoes meeting — they are all alone and are glad to 
clasp hands. Again, they understand each other with 
less of explanation than most women seem to require. 
There is more of impersonality about such friendships 
— more as it is with men. Such women have learned 
all their larger principles of living from men. They 
apply them to their own cases. Such women have 
learned values as others have not; as others have not 
had to. The knowledge is its own reward. Friend- 
ship between such women does not mean especially the 
soft exchange of large ideas accompanied by irritabil- 
ities. Nor do differences of opinion matter — nor perhaps 
differences of taste. Such women form their friendships 
on certain basic principles of character — and leave the 
rest to God!” She smiled as she looked into Rebecca’s 
eyes. Rebecca had been listening with her eyes on 


IN HIGH PLACES 


280 

the teapot, but turned them to meet Jean’s glance, while 
she nodded slowly. 

* 4 Again: the woman who is more or less doing a man’s 
work cannot squander her time on those sociabilities 
which are generally the foundation of women’s friend- 
ships, and she doesn’t need to. Such women meet, 
there is prompt recognition. Their sentiments are 
stronger than are most women’s: they aren’t thinned 
out over too much ground. The sole first question is: 
Is there the ground of mutual esteem for friendship to 
ripen in? If there isn’t, then one woman has almost 
nothing to give the other. It is mostly men who can 
give to us anything — not love, not admiration, but 
companionship. Our interests lie along their highways, 
while those of most women run in unexplored, and to 
us, uninteresting byways. More than that, we can be 
helpful to men, and as femininity is strong in us — stronger 
than in other women — our great natural necessity is to 
be useful to some man or maybe to many men. I say 
such women have more of sex than other women, because 
every element in them is by circumstances, by constant 
exercise, more strongly developed. 

“The friendships between such women are stronger 
than friendships between other women, ninety-nine 
times in a hundred, because such women ar£ lonely — 
Crusoes, I tell you. Such a woman is by no means 
willing to exchange her interests, her activity, her 
immersions for those of other women which seem to 
her, banalities — she is not willing to exchange her 
condition for mere sociability and pour passe le temps 
— and she is lonely ! However, she is more easily satisfied 
than are other women. Constant, or even frequent 
association with one she cares for, is not absolutely 
necessary to her happiness. She finds happiness in the 


AND FINALLY— HOW SHE LOVES 281 


knowledge that she is beloved. That she has a friend. 
That she has the sure refuge of friendship whenever 
she has time to seek it. 

11 Again there is no ‘new woman.* There is a worker 
of the female sex, who skerries, who swarms about eight- 
thirty into the great office buildings, with and without 
keys in her hand, with sharpened pencils, and ten cents 
in her pocket if it be Saturday morning — to do a work 
of some sort ; but that is the merest scrubwork of business 
life: it is not especially a man’s work which she does. 
She has the right to do the scrubwork of the business 
world instead of the scrubwork of her own kitchen if 
she chooses to, but it adds nothing whatever to her 
importance: lessens her importance, if anything. The 
work she does downtown as cashier in a restaurant 
maybe, or a typewriter or a stenographer or a bookkeeper 
— any of the things which are mostly given women to 
handle — could be better done by a man, just as a man 
could do such a woman’s housework better than she 
could, in case he seriously undertook it. But he doesn’t 
undertake it. Therefore, there is no one properly to 
undertake it. She is of no importance to men in her 
downtown situation; of no importance to men in her 
uptown situation. Hence she is a distressful sort of 
woman. She is not a ‘new woman.* She is the same 
old sort, with a new handicap! When it comes to women 
who do a responsible work, a work in politics, society — 
which is much the same thing as politics — or in the 
financial world, she is not new either. She is as old as 
the hills, as old as Aspasia, as Madame Roland, as — 
Susan B. Anthony. The world has never at any time 
imposed limitations upon intellectual women. Intellect 
has, since Adam and Eve, been recognised for what it is, 
either in men or in women. An intellectual woman 


282 


IN HIGH PLACES 


has no advantage, other than men have, by reason of 
her sex; neither is she limited, nor ever has been. If she 
uses her femininity in combination with her brains to 
gain her point at times, the situation compensates itself ; 
for every woman — on whom a man can bring his mascu- 
linity to bear — is vulnerable. Vulnerable more or 
less — ” Rebecca looked around again and grinned. 

4 ‘Vulnerable twice — because did you ever see a woman 
who would admit it? She shust walks right off the 
precipice mit her eyes open and her mind shut.” 

‘‘That is it. With men and women, honours are even 
then. The handicap of one is the strength of the other, 
and nature has not played favourites while she was 
making them. Their mutual strength lies in the thing 
that is tangible only to the man and woman immediately 
involved — moral force ! — The greatest thing in the 
world ” 

“The ruin of dos people, Cheen,” Rebecca let in. 

“Required all the moral force I had. Probably 
because I am weaker than other women — I guess. I 
had to shut my teeth — and do it. I couldn’t have done 
it if — if I had known then what I know now. It would 
have been too personal to myself.” 

“ I don’t know about the veakness: other women would 
have done it — if they could — without knowing what they 
were doing. You knew what you were doing, and it was 
against your inclinations — your iteas of humanity.” 

“No matter — I did it,” she answered, as if she wished 
to dismiss the matter from her mind. 

“You say about men doing a woman’s work better 
than she can ” 

“Yes, better than a woman can. Everything that a 
man undertakes to do at his best is done better and 
always has been done better than a woman has done it. 


AND FINALLY— HOW SHE LOVES 283 


The long seam — the ‘stitch, stitch, stitch’ story — that 
relegates shirt-making to women while the great coutu - 
ribres of the world are men ! Cooking always comes along 
in the schedule of woman’s work, and I recall no famous 
women cooks nor gastronomes ; but I do recall that there 
was a Savarin and some other men. Then once I knew 
a man who had reared a child along his own lines — and 
I found more to commend in that child than in any other 
I ever saw. There is only one thing of a practical sort 
that woman is better calculated to do than a man is, 
— and that she can’t do without a man’s cooperation 
either! It is to make him happy, and the supremest thing 
a man ever did was to make life worth living to a woman. 
I think that is about all the philosophy of the sexes — so 
far as I have been able to work it out — and I have worked 
at it considerably. For my part, I need men. I don’t 
like living on a desert island, and without men I would 
mostly be living on one. My kind of woman is a busy 
one. We take a moment at long intervals and visit, 
but at best our friendship is a thing hallowed more by 
separation than by association. It is on men that I 
must depend for a spiritual and mental life: and either 
is worth more to me than a physical life, and I don’t 
in the least despise nor underestimate the physical life. 
There is a freemasonry of knowledge between men and 
me. You are a very exceptional woman in your position. 
Yours is the ideal condition and is very exceptional, 
and you know enough to appreciate it. You play both 
ends against the middle — ” she looked up interroga- 
tively and half smiling again. 

“Both ents against the middle — yes, I know the ver- 
nacular — ” she chuckled down somewhere in her bodice. 
“I play both ents against the middle — and am happy. 
I half goot sense ” 


284 


IN HIGH PLACES 


4 ‘You have extreme shrewdness combined with good 
sense ” 

“And I haff had a big family for Louis Wolfschon — 
and I enjoyed bringing them up ; and I haff a goot time 
mit my husband thinking of his affairs and watching 
them turn out — and planning how we shall begin offer 
again when he vails — and for recreation I maigue dos 
pickles that Maxie ligues. Yes,” she nodded, “I haff 
a goot time. I play both ents against the middle — and 
I vin — I vin! I want no other man, and Louis wants 
no other woman — and we both want what we haff got.” 
She settled gleefully in her chair, her heavy lids drooping 
over her eyes with humorous creases at their corners. 
“You haff been explaining yourself to me on purpose. 
I guess you didn't haff to. I guess we were von of dos 
women who know each other when we meet — and I 
guess we are goot friends. I guess if you don’t mind 
I’ll call you Cheen, eh?” she said. 

“I guess, Rebecca, I’ll go to the country with you.” 

“I guess you will; now goot-bye. We’ll talk ligue 
this all summer and I guess togedder we shall do some- 
thing mit the men by the time fall gomps.” They 
shook hands and smiled as Greek augurs may have 
smiled, and both were especially glad of something 
which they did not trouble to define, but as a fact, 
it was just friendship, friendship pure and simple and 
adorable. 

At the door, Rebecca stood a moment looking at Jean. 
“I think you are very beautiful,” she said, with all her 
love of art in her tone. She was critically examining 
Jean as she stood, tall and fine from top to toe in some- 
thing black and sweeping, and carrying its perfect folds 
from waist-line to hem. 

“I am glad if that is so,” she returned earnestly. 


AND FINALLY— HOW SHE LOVES 285 


“It gives the people we love more satisfaction to have 
us beautiful, don’t you think?” 

“Veil,” said Rebecca critically, her head a little turned 
on one side; “it giffs us less to vorry about.” And with 
her expansive, meaningful grin, she went out. 

“Why didn’t you tell me she wass so fine ass that, 
Louis?” she asked him, and Wolfschon looked con- 
templative. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice if she was beautiful, 
I guess. What do you suppose we men do down there, 
Repecca? Sit and look at statues all day? Business 
iss business. Maybe Mees Merideth iss beautiful. You’re 
a goot judge — but I guess we didn’t know it. Now 
we’ve found it out, it iss a goot thing she issn’t any more 
at the office.” Wolfschon chuckled. 

“Maybe — there’s Drayton and Steppins ” 

“And me?” 

Rebecca shook her head. “No, you’re right here.” 

Wolfschon smiled. “You see it’s like this,” he said 
thoughtfully, nicely adjusting the finger tips of his right 
to those of his left hand. “If a woman’s got brains, 
a man iss so astonished that he forgets to find out if 
she hass goot looks.” 

“Well, I’ve got brains — and I’m goot looking.” And 
so she was: swarthy, massive, heroic good looks, that 
belonged to jewels and amulets and lutes and heavy, 
sensuous perfumes. Wolfschon looked at her. 

“So you are — and I guess I know it most of the time, 
but I neffer thought about it separate. I just think 
of you all over like you are. And I loff you like you are. 
You are a good wife and a good mother and a good Jew; 
and you are the shrewdest woman I effer knew. It 
issn’t your goot looks — though I like them; but if you 


286 


IN HIGH PLACES 


hadn’t any looks, Repecca, it would be just the same. 
You would be on my mind so big and hard I couldn’t 
think about some other woman effer.” 

“Well, Louis,” she said, regarding the little bristly 
gray hairs that grew out from his ear, “I think effery 
woman with goot sense must loff you — that iss always 
what I think.” And both were sorry with all their 
splendid hearts for Drayton and the woman who loved 
him. 


CHAPTER XXII 


HOW THEY BOTH LOOKED AT IT 

W HILE Wolfschon and his wife were under way 
in their own house, Drayton was sitting in his, 
thinking the situation over. He wanted a divorce. He 
wanted a divorce that he might marry Jean Merideth. 
He knew himself entitled to one — not under the laws of 
the State, but under the laws of God and decency — if 
there should happen to be any sort of a discriminating 
God, and Drayton guessed maybe there was. 

He turned the matter over and over, knew about 
what he was going to say, and then went to Rosalie’s 
apartments to say it. He thought he could go without 
first making inquiry, because they were not thirty-six 
hours off the yacht, and she would hardly have had 
time to make any engagements. He knew her now as 
well as if he had made her. She did not love him. 
She never could; and if she had stood in danger of 
it, Drayton would have taken the utmost precaution 
against it. To him she was a disturber of the peace; 
especially of his peace. He went to her rooms. She 
was already in bed: it was a little after midnight. 
Drayton had opened the door of her ante-room and, 
seeing all the lights out but that one, which was always 
kept burning, would have withdrawn to carry out his 
purpose in the morning, but Rosalie heard him and called 
from the bed: 

“ I am not asleep,” she said, and Drayton went through 
the rooms to where she was. The cat was lying across 

287 


288 


IN HIGH PLACES 


her breast as he had seen it a thousand times. He 
turned on the light and looked at them. Rosalie did 
not appear beautiful to him. He found himself won- 
dering why, too. 

‘‘I shouldn’t have disturbed you to-night,” he said. 

“I wasn’t asleep — if you want anything.” She even 
dislodged the cat, doing it gently and with concern. 
Drayton sat down in a chair not far from the bed. She 
held out her hand to him, but he didn’t see it. The 
action was propitiatory. She was mostly en garde these 
days, albeit she was getting over her fright somewhat. 
She had seen that she wasn’t going to be poorer than 
she could survive, and she had new Van Vorst plans, 
laid along the line of her supposed new condition of 
forfeited affluence, and she had faith in the future. 
More than that, she wanted to get square with Henley. 
About that her thoughts were inchoate, impotent, and 
must always be by the very nature of her intelligence, 
but still the intent was an occupation of a kind. It was 
summer, and of course she was getting out of town 
again, almost immediately. It was this that seemed 
to Drayton to promise a chance for readjustment. 

“ I have come to talk matters over with you,” he began, 
his manner superfine, somewhat unapproachable, but 
exceedingly courteous, as it had habitually been of late. 

'‘I am useful to you in only one way: as a banker. 
We bring each other no happiness” — she made a slight 
movement implying dissent and* Drayton repeated 
quietly what he had said. “We bring each other no 
happiness. Under the circumstances, this is very dis- 
tressing for us both. You are entitled to happiness 
and so am I. I propose to adjust matters so that we 
may both enjoy what we can of life. I propose to give 
you a divorce. As a matter of fact, I wish to marry 


HOW THEY BOTH LOOKED AT IT 289 

another woman. Also, you are young and — and beau- 
tiful” — he recalled that he had thought so — “and will 
find some man who will be able to make you happier 
than I have been able to. I propose to give you cause 
for action, and to settle everything I stand possessed of 
upon you, absolutely, now and forever. I have never 
cared for money, as you know. I shall probably always 
continue to make it. I am no longer in difficulties. 
The ruin I supposed Henley had wrought — in fact, had 
wrought — has been undone. We have the International 
and all the rest, and it is this that I propose to give you. 
You may marry anyone you please almost, on such 
fortune. You will be going away in a week — and ” 

“I think we needn’t talk of this,” she said, the flame 
and flare of her red-gold hair seeming to have leaped 
into her eyes. “ I don’t want to marry anyone else. I 
shan’t divorce you.” Her voice was high and thin, as it 
became in moments of excitement. 

“I don’t understand that,” Drayton said, frowning. 
“ I do not love you — you do not love me ” 

“But you love some other woman!” she said, with a 
quick, sharp setting of her lips. 

“Well — what of it? It does not matter to you.” 
Drayton expressed in his tone the amazement he felt. 

“Possibly — probably not,” she answered. “But we 
needn’t discuss that. I want no divorce — and I won’t 
have one — you can’t manage it to save your life.” 

“I don’t care to — manage it. I ask you to do so. I 
will give you a cause for action, I tell you.” 

“The rest of your life may be a cause for action; and 
yet I won’t take it,” she said. Drayton leaned his 
elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist, and looked at 
her. 

“Why?” he asked at last. 


IN HIGH PLACES 


290 

“There are several reasons; but one is: I am better 
off as your wife than I would be married to some other 
man.” Rosalie had a strange instinctive astuteness of 
which few would dream. Drayton narrowed his eyes. 
She was impressing him. 

“Well?” he said, interrogatively. 

“Well, that's all. And if you try to divorce me — ” 
Drayton made a resentful motion. 

“I shouldn't divorce you — even if you were guilty; 
there are things a decent man can't do to — any sort of 
woman. I wouldn't live with you — but I wouldn't 
divorce you.” 

“You can’t divorce me even on Dakota grounds — ' 
incompatibility or — or — anything” — Drayton looked at 
her. 

“I never thought of taking that way. To my mind 
there is but one possible way of divorce and that is the 
one I’ve mentioned to you — the way made by a man’s 
natural inclination to — kick over the traces. It — it is 
the only decent way. I won’t let you say that I beat or 
starve you, you know.” 

“And the ground you mention is precisely the one 
upon which I shall never get a divorce. I’ll never let 
the public know that — there is a woman — stronger than 
I am.” Every word was vicious with her hate of him, 
and Drayton leaned forward regarding her with curiosity. 
After a moment he smiled. 

“Each seems to have his own prejudices,” he re- 
marked; “still I will point out to you the advantages of 
what I have proposed. As I have said — you 
might have pretty much what you wanted in this world. 
I should give you everything. I am satisfied with the 
name of Drayton, Wolfschon & Stebbins, and the 
good-will. I wish to marry another woman: I love her. 


HOW THEY BOTH LOOKED AT IT 


291 


You wish for a social condition which you say you 
haven’t. You care for the Smart Set, as I understand 
it; and with this colossal fortune, I dare say you might 
marry a king if you set about it properly.” 

‘‘You have named precisely the thing I have and 
don’t want. I don’t want the Smart Set. I am the 
Smart Set. I want to be in society — I want the Van 
Vorsts, and I mean to have them and it — society. The 
Smart Set isn’t it. As a divorcee I can continue to have 
what I’ve got. As a divorcee I should find it more 
difficult — than I have already found it — to get what I 
want. If you’ve straightened out that Henley business, 
then” — she paused, threw her head back on the pillow 
and looked at him from under her lashes — ” If you have 
that matter fixed up — and love some other woman — the 
woman is — Jean Merideth” — Drayton stirred suddenly 
in his seat. 

“Leave her out,” he said hoarsely. “I object.” 

“Then don’t talk divorce to me. Because if you ever 
do — again — I’ll ruin that woman as sure as you live!” 

Drayton rose ; he felt the sudden surging of the blood 
in his head, the beat in his ears, which he had known on 
another occasion, and he feared his own action. He 
turned his back upon her with an instant movement. 
He would be careful not to see her again. If he should 
murder her one day, when this beating in his ears con- 
fused him — ! He left the room. 

Three days later Rosalie went into the Adirondacks 
to plan her fall campaign. It should be the Van Vorsts 
or nothing. Drayton’s money had returned to him an 
hundredfold; she would one day take it out of Henley, 
but not next season perhaps. He might be useful yet. 

Next time it should be a bargain. So much for so much. 
The Van Vorsts for — something, she didn’t know what. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 

N EW impulse had come into the office of Drayton, 
Wolfschon & Stebbins. Nothing was said on the 
subject by the partners, but all knew it and worked 
with that unanimity even of sentiment and mood which 
is so desirable to successful enterprise. Jean Merideth 
and Drayton had not met again, and only Stebbins said 
anything about her. She was never mentioned between 
Wolfschon and Drayton, and Drayton didn’t know she 
was in the country with Rebecca. Stebbins blurted 
out something night or morning about her and what 
she had done. To Stebbins she was a jolly fine goddess 
or something. The Baron had developed a sentiment 
about Jean Merideth’s affairs — those guessed-at affairs — 
and had known an old man’s childish delight in the 
denouement. “ It is regrettable that she is a Christian,” 
the very elegant old Jew had thought upon several likely 
occasions when he had his eligible Jew friends before 
him. It had been an epoch in the last days of the Baron 
and it pleased him to gossip about it like an old 
woman, in his letters to Wolfschon. 

Drayton’s domestic situation was preying upon him, 
but he believed that nothing in this world could ever 
again “down” him. There seemed to be new blood in 
his veins, carrying a good deal of iron to the ounce. He 
had a sort of abiding premonition that one day — he 
didn’t define it: his premonition; but it had to do with 
Jean Merideth. And then, if it never came — that day 
292 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 


293 


— still she lived, and she loved him and he loved her. 
With Rosalie away, her presence no longer like a blight 
within his house, he could endure the situation with some- 
thing like tranquillity. He went again to see his friends 
in Houston Street. It had been nearly a year since the 
night Aline — or Elisabeth Waagen — had dropped out of 
the Germans' world. Drayton had sometimes heard 
from them, and knew that they had seen no more of her, 
nor had heard anything. When he went down to Hous- 
ton Street again, it was almost another such night as in 
the summer before, when he had been trying to push 
his way through an awful fate and find the light. But 
this time he went to help rather than to seek help. 
His situation had not changed in that he had the thing 
he wanted, but in that he was better able to five on what 
he had. Drayton was staying out on Long Island 
mostly during the summer, that he might get to 
the office every day. It was a busy year for the 
partners. 

When he had again climbed the stairs at Houston 
Street, it was to find Christopher alone as before, but he 
was not at work. He sat in his trousers and under- 
shirt, his pipe in his mouth, a small dog on his knee, and 
the evidences of his work all about. 

“ Well, well, well, mein lieber Gott!” Christopher cried, 
when Drayton pushed upon the door at his command. 
“Here you are, here you are! And I am so glat ass 
effer. You haff fat on you. You haff der cheer in 
your eye." And the men shook hands. When Drayton 
sat, Christopher walked round him several times, 
viewing him from different angles. “Yess, yess, you 
are better ” 

“I wasn't ill,” Drayton laughed. “I am the man 
who never gets ill, my friend.” 


294 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“You are the man ass neffer knows when he is getting 
sick, that is all!” 

“Johann? ” 

Christopher’s face became grave. 

“Johann neffer stays no more in der house. He is 
not right. He thinks of — of nothing but Aline — of 
Elisabeth — we haff not found her.” 

“That is bad,” Drayton said, anxiously, and now he 
saw that Christopher was off in flesh, and that he wore 
an unaccustomed pallor. If affairs were going badly 
with Loscher, they were also going badly with Christo- 
pher. Drayton felt concerned. 

“Tell me about it,” he said. 

“It is like this: We do not find her. I can stand it 
because always effery hour I plan how she shall be found. 
I haff hope. I haff hope because — because it is mein 
nature perhaps; but also I work. I put my eyes on 
something ahead and wait till I get where it is, and 
then I put something ahead some more. Johann can’t 
do like that. He thinks but one thing: ‘She is gone.’ 
It breaks mein heart that she is gone and that he is — 
going. It is wrong the way things are, but I must get 
on, because if I dit not, Johann would kill himself. He 
sits here without much words till he can’t stand it and 
then he goes out and walks and walks. He cannot 
know that she — she was mein Aline ass well ass mein 
Elisabeth, and that I haff lost two things. He could 
not stand that. It is bad ass it is.” 

“You are still at the theatre?” 

“Yess; and now I haff tried to make Johann get a 
place at the theatre so he will be away from that table 
d’hote; but he will not. That is again where he is all 
wrong. I know what I cannot stand, and try to do some 
other way, since I must stand it. I want him to try to 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 


295 


be First Violin in a theatre. He wass my First in der 
Berlin orchestra.' * Christopher had never before mem 
tioned their former condition — these artists without 
ambitions — but Drayton had known perfectly what was 
their status as musicians. 

" I try to get him to do this, and he will not. I think 
of my music between the times I am curling der leettle 
dogs and looking for Aline-Elisabeth. I play as neffer 
before. It is my salvation — to think of der music and 
to make meinself now an ambition. I care noddings 
for such things, but to keep my mind going. Johann, 
he goes always to der table d’hdte, and watches der 
place where she sat, and soon he will get queer in his 
mind." And just then Johann came in. 

When he and Drayton shook hands, he did not smile 
nor reflect surprise nor pleasure in his face. He looked 
Drayton in the eyes a moment and seemed to have said 
everything. 

"See here, Loscher, Christopher tells me Aline isn’t 
found?" Johann said nothing, but sat at the table 
leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets. 
"You will find her, you know. She hasn’t killed her- 
self or the papers would have had it. She can’t drop 
out of the world any other way. It is only a matter of 
time. I am going to take a hand in this matter myself. 
My own affairs have — have been a little strenuous, and 
I have neglected my friends, but that is over: whether 
they are strenuous or not, I shall no longer neglect my 
friends. You may have done everything that I can do, 
but I am going to do it over again. I am going to get 
the department at work on Monday morning, and we’ll 
find out if a woman can be lost indefinitely in New York 
City." For a moment Loscher looked up with something 
like response ; then he shook his head. 


296 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“She is gone,” he said. 

“Well, Chris isn't gone,” Drayton quietly remarked. 
“He's getting pretty thin — but he isn't gone yet.” 
Johann looked up at Christopher, who was studying 
him anxiously, with all his devoted love in his eyes. 
Loscher leaned across the table and put his hand on 
Christopher’s shoulder. 

“That is true. I — I have not noticed — before. Chris” 
— The younger man compressed his lips a moment and 
then continued: “I can't do as you do — but — it is true, 
you are — something is wrong with you. Don't, don't” — 
he got up in a panic — “My Gott!” he said, “My Gott!” 

“Johann, come here mit me,” Christopher said, rising 
while Johann came and stood before him. Christopher 
put his hands on his shoulders. “Johann, almost all 
der time we owe somebody something, and then we owe 
ourselves something. Till Aline- Elisabeth is found, we 
owe it to her to keep strong. If you say she will not be 
found, then you haff deserted her. If you say ‘I will 
find her,' then you stick to her — and in the end you find 
her. If you will not look cheerful, you cannot stand 
it ” 

“You are not standing it ” 

“I may be losing mein flesh, but I am not losing my 
hope. I am not losing mein duty to her nor to you — 
nor to meinself. If Drayton is going to try for us, then 
we haff a duty to him to stand it till he says there is no 
more hope. I say first of all, leaf der table d’hbte. 
Now is your time to earn der money for her when she 
shall come back. You are to come and be der First 
Violin mit mein orchestra somewheres, or I will be yours. 
If you will say yes, von of us will get der theatre orches- 
tra right away now. I don’t care which von. But we 
will blay together. Say now what you will do. ” 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 297 

“There is no orchestra ” 

“But, mein Gott in Hitmnel , I — you — we will make 
von. We haff neffer tried for von, nor cared. Now 
you will get busy at vonce. You tend to der business 
to-morrow. Go to Eisenberg to-morrow and tell him 
What you want. If you can’t find Aline- Elisabeth, you 
can attend to our business — and Drayton and me, we 
will find her, while you are doing it. You say yes?” 

“Yes,” he said, and began to walk about the room 
restlessly. 

It was this picture: Christopher with his firm ruddy 
flesh grown soft and an unnatural colour, and Loscher 
forcing himself only half successfully to meet Chris- 
topher’s efforts for him and throwing himself about the 
room, which Drayton carried uptown with him. On 
the following Monday he took their affairs in hand again, 
and the police went to work in dead earnest. 

Again and again Drayton went his way to Houston 
Street and noted with increasing anxiety the ravages 
wrought in Christopher by prolonged self-repression 
and with thinking upon the complicated situation: 
these things combined with his distress for Johann! 
In manner and speech there was no noticeable change 
in him, but the physical signs of breaking were apparent. 
Now that they were apparent to Loscher, they had begun 
to do a sort of missionary work, inasmuch as the younger 
man’s former despair was neutralised by his new trouble. 
Christopher’s health became his first care. He tried to 
feel reassured about the girl since Drayton was actively 
conducting the search. 

After a time, days came when Christopher no longer 
sat up. He did not go to bed, but he abandoned the 
bench and his little dogs, to stretch himself upon the 
carpet-covereed sofa, now and then raising himself on 


2Q& 


IN HIGH PLACES 


his elbow, the better to breathe. A physician had 
prescribed for him, and sometimes he took spirits of 
amyl. He had been forbidden to drink coffee. Mostly 
he laughed at his situation. He did not acknowledge 
his illness. 

To be deprived of his coffee was his greatest distress. 
It was not the coffee which he missed, but a sentiment 
which went with it. During their lives together — which 
was since the days of Loscher’s adolescence, when he had 
first come to play in Vienna in Christopher’s fine orchestra 
— Christopher had been Loscher’s guide and unphilosoph- 
ical friend. One man was as vigorous as the other, but 
their energies were differently interpreted ; one man was 
as unselfish as the other; only Loscher was self-concen- 
trated, without however being an egotist. The coffee hour 
was missed by Christopher. Always before this, when 
he came home in the afternoon, he first smelt the fra- 
grance of the coffee which Johann made against his re- 
turn. The delicious warmth it suggested and the welcome 
awaiting him above, were as cherished as some dear live 
thing. Now he could no longer enjoy this thing so 
trivial, so great. 

He was feeling better: between the physical disturb- 
ances which seemed to come suddenly upon him, he 
felt very well. He went out. When he was in the hot 
summer streets, he all of the time was unconsciously 
seeking the girl. 

'‘One day she will suddenly get herself found,” he 
thought with forced assurance, and then he wandered 
aimlessly about. But afterward when he started up the 
stairs — which he found himself climbing more diliber- 
ately each time — he felt some irritation because he could 
not smell the coffee. 

“Johann, I want mein coffee,” he called one day 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 299 

upon entering. Johann was smoking by the windows 
with his slippered feet hoisted high. 

Nein, my Chris, you may not have any. It is not 
good for you. I will make you some of that seed coffee 
that comes in a box,” and he got up. The gentle 
Christopher swore, but Johann said nothing. 

“Will you have the coffee made of seeds?” 

“No,” he shouted. “I will not haff any seeds. Sit 
down.” And Johann obediently sat. 

“I haff been thinking,” Christopher said after a 
time. Johann nodded and offered him his pipe; but 
as suddenly withdrew it, recalling that Christopher 
was now forbidden the solace of tobacco. It was 
Johann's face which reflected pain: Christopher began 
again to swear. 

“That is right — no coffee, no tobacco — nothing. 
Seeds and — just nothing. That doctor is one fine fool. 
Bah! ” And Christopher got up and stamped. Johann 
regarded this irritability with sympathy. The pain at 
his own heart was great. Christopher’s condition was 
all of the time present in Loscher’s thoughts. 

“I haff been thinking. When Aline- Elisabeth has 
got herself found, you are to bring her here. We shall 
all live together. Your happiness together will make 
me well—” Johann looked at him furtively. The 
older man had never before acknowledged his illness. 
As Johann watched him, he knew there was some subtle 
difference. So weak, so tired; all that was left was his 
kind and tender spirit — and that was often veiled by 
a tone of exasperation. Christopher would now like 
to see the two he most loved in the world moving about 
him, happy in each other. 

“I think I would like to see you sit before me so,” 
indicating a chair near to the sofa upon which he had 


3oo 


IN HIGH PLACES 


stretched himself. “So! Happy before mein eyes — - 
then, too, you could see that I was glad.” 

His deeply emotional nature seemed at rest and he had 
come to contemplate this possible situation almost with 
a degree of comfort during the past few days. 

“Chris,” said Johann, “when are you going to play 
again?” Christopher leaned up and rested his great 
head upon his elbow. 

“ Ach ! I do not know. I think I will only curl der 
dogs in der fall — when Aline- Elisabeth is found.” There 
was no enthusiasm in his tone ; and hitherto it had seemed 
though hope were dead, yet music had the power to 
call forth a gleam in his eye ; a smile ; a softness of tone ; 
a moment of translation; of obsession! Johann noted 
the difference. 

“ Now, listen,” said Johann, “and I will tell you some- 
thing; I am not happy like this — at a place where you 
do not play.” Christopher looked up. It seemed an 
earnest that Johann would never again revert to the 
table d’hdte. “You have made me very unhappy all 
of the time with your arranging things. Now I will not 
go on like this. You are to get to be Director, and I 
First Violin in the fall.” Christopher was listening to 
the echo of his own entreaties of a few months back. He 
would not remind Johann that his idea was not original. 

“Well?” prompted Christopher. 

“ Gottlieb Kuhne is going back to Germany — to Berlin ; 
and there will be his place in the fall. It is a hundred 
dollars a week. If the engagement was open now, still 
you could not play before the fall — you are not strong 
enough.” 

“Yes,” said Christopher impatiently. “I am strong 
enough. You are foolish — but there is no engagement 
till the fall — so go on with your speaking.” 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 301 

“Well, it is a good place.” Christopher nodded. 
“You can play there what you like — Brahm, Mozart — - 
the things you like. Well, I am going to get for you 
that place — which Gottlieb leaves. I have talked about 
it with Eisenberg. The engagement can be closed for 
September. The men want to play with you. We will 
play together again as we used to do and you will be 
well, and Aline-Elisabeth will be with us and you will 
be happy again and as ever. You, with your arrange- 
ments! Now you have to do as I say: I do not like your 
arrangements, eff er. * ' 

Christopher got off the sofa and sat in his chair. He 
laughed — not in the old enormous, opulent way, but 
pleased, contented. He was interested in Johann's 
plans for him. Johann perceived it and was 
delighted. 

Thus, as the summer passed and merged in the days 
that were, a sort of inertia that wore the seeming of 
tranquillity settled upon the man. He sometimes 
thought of the gentle Aline-Elisabeth as his tender child. 
He could imagine the touch of her hand without an 
accompanying distraction. He was now an old man, 
he told himself; an old, old man of forty years! He 
was not ill because he loved; his heart rejoiced healthily 
in small things; but strong as was his constitution, his 
emotions seemed to have burst their bonds. Only a 
Hercules could safely have worn that heart. 

It grew to be the last of summer. In the Park the 
leaves were rustling. Up the river, russet in every shade 
banked the Palisades. One morning Drayton and Chris- 
topher went up there. They drove up in Drayton’s 
machine, but got out and walked along the river for 
several miles. 

“Tell me everything,' said Drayton. “Everything. 


302 


IN HIGH PLACES 


How is your health and your heart? Of what are you 
thinking? I must hear. I am very much worried 
about you.” 

“I do not know,” Christopher said, taking his pipe 
from his pocket and filling it. Drayton shook his head: 

“Are you smoking?” Christopher laughed. 

“Ja! Schon! I am smoking. I am drinking mein 
coffee — I am no bird for seeds! I am doing effery von 
of those things that I would do if I had neffer seen a 
doctor. Drayton, look at this: I do not go about veep- 
ing, do I?” Drayton shook his head. “I haff not 
habits that a self-respecting man may not haff? — Well 
then, if der natural things to a man like me are going 
to kill him, why let 'em kill. It is foolish! I do not 
say the doctor is not right, but I have liffed well; I haff 
not needed anything — not wanted much that I haff not 
had. I haff been happy — in my own way. I haff 
harmed no one. I am useful to mein Johann any longer 
only as a sick man to take his mind from himself — yes, 
yes, he would weep, but he would recover. It is only 
healthy that he should. Now a sick man may be useful 
to startle some other and get his mind going der right 
way — but it is not going to be useful for a live, healthy 
man always to contemplate der sick. I feel, Drayton, 
that my — my funny troubles mit mein body haff done 
their work. Johann is again a sensible man: looking 
like a sensible man for Aline- Elisabeth ; steady on his 
feet again. Now I will not lose mein little joys of life 
for some doctor. I will smoke mein pipe, I will drink 
mein beer, I will haff mein coffee — no bird-seed. I will 
liff mein own way — otherwise life is not worth lifting 
at all. I do not mind to die more ass I mind taking a 
swim. You liff — you die, eh?” Drayton looked at 
him and then across at Storm- King — they were as far 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 


303 


as Garrison’s, standing near the ferry dock. After a 
while, Drayton nodded. 

“ That’s right. You live — you die — do both in a 
clean decent fashion — well-bred to the end. You, for 
instance, are the best bred man I know. You have a 
marvellous credit to your account — some place.” 

“I haff just gone along ass I was made,” and he 
laughed again in the old familiar way. Presently they 
walked on, and it was Christopher who broke the silence. 

About mein feelings — I do not know. I haff ceased 
to sort them out. I grew confused about them a while 
ago, and it is of no use to think what I feel. There is 
mein charge — Elisabeth-Aline : and there is mein loff — * 
Aline-Elisabeth — my loff forever and forever. I loff 
der von woman two ways, and I must speak qf nothing 
to Johann. I have faced all der ways of it. I no longer 
do anything. I wait. When der moment comes, I 
shall go on der same as in der past. I do not plan 
for it — I know it — -and maybe — ” He looked whimsically 
at Drayton and laughed a little. “ Maybe mit mein 
pipe and mein coffee — ” 

Drayton lifted and dropped his shoulders ; his familiar 
trick. Christopher interpreted it, and clapped him on 
the shoulder. 

4 ‘Come, come, mein friend. While we liff there is 
joy. Come. Laugh mit me,” and they turned down 
the road and climbed into the machine. Drayton 
couldn’t seem to laugh. 

Later, this reorganisation of Christopher’s forces 
seemed to weaken. He was in bed for a time. During 
that time, Johann seldom thought definitely of Aline- 
Elisabeth. At night he moved his table beside the bed 
and placed his beer upon it — always one glass. 

‘‘Here — where is mein beer. Get up, Johann, and 


3°4 


IN HIGH PLACES 


wait upon me, 1 Christopher would say with a grin and 
a shaking of his massive shoulders. The programme 
was always the same. Johann rose with a protest and 
placed beer for Christopher upon the table. “ Where 
is mein pipe? — get it.” And Johann got it. 

“You will kill yourself,” Johann protested. 

“I will haff a good time — I am not hurting anybody, 
mein friend.” And presently he would lay aside his pipe ; 
and his beer often stood undrunk: he had no longer 
much taste for either; but it was a sort of maintenance 
of their former habits. 

Then Johann would say: 

“I am going to remake the bed, my Chris: the fresh 
sheets will rest you.” And thereupon he would move 
the sick man to the other bed — and the laundry bills 
were enormous. 

“ I must put this different pillow under your shoulder: 
a different size will rest you,” and they accumulated 
a great number of pillows of various sizes. 

“ I haff for you a beautiful cologne that will make your 
head cold.” But odours, the sweetest, were likely to 
cause the big man to faint. Thus no hour passed with- 
out some affectionate demonstration between the 
friends. The dogs came no more to be brightened, and 
often Christopher regarded the bench, the table, the 
empty basket — now containing a dry and solitary frag- 
ment of sponge cake — with a momentary regret. 

“I must brighten der dogs again, some day — soon,” 
he would say, and at times he played upon his violin, 
lying on his back or propped high with pillows. He 
did not drop out of the life and news of his profession. 
He heard the gossip from Johann and his engagement 
for the fall was fixed: which was well, because while 
Christopher was perfectly known in these days by the 


HOW CHRISTOPHER LOOKED AT IT 305 


men of his art, still to be gone is to be forgotten. Jesus 
Himself would have been forgotten, even by the woman 
earliest at the tomb, had He not risen again! 

Christopher no longer took things which the doctor 
prescribed. He took charcoal tablets for his endo- 
carditis instead of nitrate of amyl and digitalis : he had 
decided that what he had was indigestion instead of a 
heart disease. In October Christopher was up and about 
again, mostly in his rooms; but still he was going to be 
well enough to pass from Second Fiddle to Baton by 
the time the late engagement was due. On a Thursday, 
just at evening, as Johann was coming in at the door 
below — which now was shut all of the time against the 
sharp October air — the sound of Christopher’s violin 
greeted him, and for the first time in many months he 
was playing Erster Verlust. 

“ Hola ! I am preparing for mein engagement — I 
shall be the leader of an orchestra in America, at last.” 
He threw back his head and laughed vibrantly. They 
laughed together. 

“You are well again. The summer was a bad dream. 
It is over. The air is full of gain and future. Oh, 
Gott! The summer! — it was horrible. What are they 
going to play?” 

“The first will be Bizet’s music for TArlesienne.’ 
Good enough, most beautiful — pastoral — but after that 
we shall play something real — German.” 

“Somebody said they had something English — of 
the big kind ” 

“English? Oh, mein Gott! No! Listen now to 
this” — and he played with his old-time beauty of 
technique and passion. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


HOW HENLEY LOOKED AT IT 

I N OCTOBER, Aline-Elisabeth was still lost; Dray- 
ton, Wolfschon & Stebbins had made the copper 
trust an accomplished fact, had established publicly 
the alliance with Erleicher’s house, and were dominant 
in the finance of two worlds. 

The Wolfschon family were back again in town. Dray- 
ton even yet did not know that Jean had been with Re- 
becca all summer. He never inquired about her; he sel- 
dom thought of anything or anyone else, however. Even 
when seeming most engaged, there was the subconscious- 
ness in him of the one woman, the woman who had smit- 
ten his enemy because she loved him. His Disturber of 
the Peace was only now coming to town, with cat-basket 
and retinue, and plans: eternal plans for a campaign 
in which money should win if money could! Drayton 
kept no sort of track of her expenditures. She spent 
like a princess — Drayton paid like a king. For himself: 
he had lived mostly out on Long Island in a satisfactory, 
if modest way, getting what rest he could, when he could. 
He became conscious of Rosalie's return only by the 
sight of the carriage or a machine at the door, or a little 
more coming and going of the servants. The place was 
so vast that by keeping to his part of the establishment 
he need bear witness to nothing. The idea of the 
divorce was constantly in his mind, and he found he had 
been anticipating some action or some communication 
from her on the subject, as soon as she returned to town. 

306 


HOW HENLEY LOOKED AT IT 


3°7 


Then when he heard nothing from her he began to chafe. 
His restiveness grew so upon him that he found himself 
again nerve-strung to the highest tension, but there was 
an exhilaration belonging to the condition which 
made him think quicker, work harder and which made 
his plans more vast. 

“Sometimes you seem to me to be inspired by the 
Deffil, Drayton/’ Wolfschon said one night, when he 
and Drayton had been working late and alone; “when we 
strike a dead-lock, or a snag that seems to put us out of 
gommission, you fish us out from the ashpan of despair, 
like we were some Phoenix;” which was true, if mixed. 

No word concerning Drayton had ever passed between 
Rebecca Wolfschon and Jean since the day they had 
first met. As Rebecca had said, they could talk about 
him without saying a word. 

The friendship of the women had been a profound 
satisfaction to both. Wolfschon took out into the 
country the news of the office, because it had been his 
habit ever since he had married. If he had not done 
so, Rebecca Wolfschon would have resented it. Thus, 
a sort of honorary directorship existed, and meetings 
were informally held. Jean was in her old place, only 
under changed circumstances. She again served the 
firm, but from Wolfschon’s library instead of at Dray- 
ton’s side. Wolfschon was dying to talk about it to 
Drayton, but he didn’t dare; Rebecca had mentioned 
several things that he might expect to happen, in case 
he ever mentioned Jean to Drayton. Wolfschon had 
an abiding faith in Rebecca’s prophecies. 

“But how will anything happen, if they neffer hear 
of each other again?” 

“I don’t know what will happen. Nothing effer may 
happen. What would you haff happen ? You are crazy 


3°8 


IN HIGH PLACES 


Louis. Aren’t things bad enough? Maybe he will get 
a divorce — he ought to ” 

“How do you know?” 

“Well — he loffs Cheen, doesn’t he?” Wolfschon 
looked at his large wife meditatively. 

“You women are the stranchest things!” he said. 

“Well!” Rebecca answered, and went to bed. This 
was in the summer. On their return Jean had gone 
back to the Ansonia, and with the group reassembled 
once more in town, the restlessness among the various 
members of it seemed to become general. Jean was 
greatly distracted, and one night after midnight she took 
a cab to the Wolfschons’ door. 

“What iss it?” said Rebecca, shutting the door of 
her sitting room. ‘ ‘ Are you seek ? ’ ’ 

“No; but I am leaving the country again.” She sat 
sidewise upon a pile of cushions before Rebecca’s fire, 
as if she were very tentatively present. 

“What for? Did you just decide?” She knew that 
her late coming implied a considerable disturbance of 
the mind. 

“I decided ten minutes before I came around here. 
Just long enough before to get on my wraps.” 

“You can’t stand it, eh?” Jean nodded. Rebecca 
looked at her and Jean frowned into the fire. 

“Well” — Rebecca paused, and then she leaned forward 
with her hands on the arms of her chair. “Cheen,” she 
said slowly, “you know anything about — about Drayton’s 
wife?” Jean made a sudden dissenting movement, but 
Wolfschon’s wife persisted. “I’m going to tell you some- 
thing ” Again Jean made the motion and half rose. 

“You sit down. I am going to tell you something. 

Drayton has wanted children all of his life ” Jean 

got up, “and that hussy he’s married to, didn’t ” 


HOW HENLEY LOOKED AT IT 


309 


“Now stop,” Jean said, standing uneasily. 

“And when he thought effery thing wass all right — she 
fooled him — Drayton most went crazy.” 

“Stop — I can’t stand it,” she said, and her hand fell 
heavily upon Rebecca’s shoulder. 

“Well — I wouldn’t.” And the women looked at 
each other. 

“I’ll have to,” Jean said after a minute. 

“What do you have to for ” 

“For the reason you have mentioned — the 
children ” 

Rebecca watched her a moment as she stood hugging 
her own shoulders. 

“For my part,” she said slowly after a moment, “I 
think the days of flocks and herds and batriarchs were 
pretty sensible. There was some system aboud it. 
When are you going away, Cheen?” 

“I’ll sail in the morning ” 

“You are always sailing — in der morning — it seems to 
me. You sailed in der morning a gouple of years ago. You 
had better sail in der effening this time. In der effening 
of next month or der month after. You better wait.” 

“There’s nothing to wait for,” she answered, walking 
about. 

“Well — I don’t know. Maybe not — but I feel as if 
you had better wait. Gome back and liff mit us here — 
there’s Maxie — and ” 

“I can’t live with you always — I’ve got to live my 
own life. I am a full-grown woman ” 

“Well — but you’re sick now ” 

“Dont’ talk that way! Say I am strong — that I can 
pull through anything — or I shall — or I can’t stand it.” 

“I guess you can stand it. Will you stay here to- 
night? Louis hass some plans that he don’t know about 


3 IQ 


IN HIGH PLACES 


— and I don’t know about — it iss that British Columbia 
matter — and I guess you can think of something.” 

“Didn’t the new engineer they sent out get a 
report ” 

“No — and Louis iss haffing a time about it down in 
der library now.” The two women moved toward 
the stairs, of one accord. “I don’t know enough about 
that business to think of anything. I ” 

“Well, I do — ,” said Jean, and she went into the 
library. 

The trouble in Rosalie’s mind at this time was, she 
hadn’t formulated anything; and when Henley, heavily 
laden with his mind and circulation and hair and tissues 
of one sort and another, sank into the chair behind her 
in her opera box, she was too surprised to adopt a method 
of procedure. She had not seen him once since the 
fiasco. No one on this side of the Atlantic had seen 
him, till the last two weeks. Rosalie was spending the 
money that Henley’s wife came within an ace of spend- 
ing; so, on the whole, Rosalie thought Henley might 
sit on the chair behind her, because he might be useful. 
She could no longer think how, but still 

“Just as beautiful and — carbonated as ever, Rose,” 
he said, breathing with heavy regularity into her ear. 
It made Rosalie’s backbone tingle with nerves, but she 
endured it. She was trying to think how to make him 
useful. 

“I didn’t know you were back,” she said, looking at 
him tranquilly. “You got it awfully in that copper 
thing, didn’t you?” she said. Henley looked at her a 
minute. There was not a particle of good sense in her. 
Henley saw that, and he saw that she had not spoken in 
malice. She was a woman absolutely without a sense 


HOW HENLEY LOOKED AT IT 


3ii 

of proportion. Henley came as near laughing as he 
could under the circumstances. 

“She’s just an ordinary damn fool,” he thought. 
4 ‘ What made you think so? ” he asked. He would like, 
out of curiosity, to know how Drayton had carried 
his triumph. 

“Why — Drayton wanted to divorce me — because I 
told you,” she said, after a moment and with a merry 
expression in her eyes. Again Henley regarded her with 
interest. She was complete. 

“She couldn’t be more perfect in her own way,” he 
thought. “And what a hellish, dangerous, utterly 
inconsequent way it is.” Suddenly he forgot where he 
was and became lost in the psychology of the situation, 
It was marvellous, utterly so, that an inconsequent 
woman, without mentality, almost without temperament, 
certainly without character, only with flesh par ex- 
cellence and a certain nervous irritability which might 
be interpreted as temperament, could shake to his 
foundation a sound, perfectly poised man like Drayton ; 
could disrupt gigantic plans ; could bring about financial 
revolutions; could so completely put her betters at a 
disadvantage, and all without making any effort what- 
ever; simply by continuing to be herself. 

“ Did you have a word with the Van Vorsts to-night? ” 
He asked the question casually and watched her nar- 
rowly. Just a suspicion of anger came into her face, 
but the expression was fleeting. 

“We saw each other — and nodded,” she said, looking 
across the horseshoe. After a moment Henley, with his 
hand on his knee, leaned forward. 

“Rosie, I want you to do me a favour.” Rosalie 
looked at him and decided she would listen to what it 


was. 


3 12 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Well,” she said. 

“Ida has a governess — a little German girl. I want 
you to send Fifine away and engage the little German 
girl.” Rosalie turned round in her seat and stared at 
him. 

“What for?” she said. Henley felt his soft upper 
lip a moment, all the while regarding Rosalie attentively. 
He seemed just then to breathe harder, if that were 
possible. 

“If I promise you an invitation to the Van Vorsts — 
on my honour ” 

“On something else,” she interrupted plaintively. 

“Well, on my well-known spirit of accommodation, 
then, will you do as I say about this little German 
girl?” Rosalie sat with her back toward the front of 
the box and continued to look at him shrewdly. 

“You can’t fool me — again,” she mentioned, half- 
shutting her eyes. 

“I don’t mean to fool you. Will you engage this 
girl — and later, follow directions? I want her first of 
all out of my own house.” 

“ If she is settled there with your children, how am I 
to get her?” 

“I’ll make it so devilish hot, she’ll — go — and I’ll put 
you on when she applies to an agency for a place.” 
Rosalie looked out over the house and her eyes rested 
on the Van Vorst box. 

“ If you don’t keep your word ” 

“I’ll keep my word first; and then if you don’t keep 
yours, I’ll have the house closed to you — later,” he said 
coolly. Rosalie raised her lorgnette and sat with it 
levelled for several moments. When she lowered it, she 
got up. 

“I’m tired and going home — if you hear of a good 


HOW HENLEY LOOKED AT IT 


3i3 

maid, I want her. Fifine is getting to be more of a fool 
every day.” And as Henley nodded, she fluttered out 
of the box; but Henley remained far back, out of sight. 
Suddenly the thought of the little German girl — his 
children’s governess — got into his blood, and a sudden 
starting up of his systemic affairs made him short- 
winded. 


CHAPTER XXV 


WHEN ALINE- ELISABETH GOT HERSELF FOUND 

WEEK later, Rosalie received an invitation to 



jLjL the Van Vorsts. It was for the first week in 
January. The day she received it, she stayed in bed 
with the cat across her breast all day. She had no 
appetite, but drank champagne and wasn’t fit for any- 
thing at night. The day after her solitary debauch she 
arose and went to her dressmaker’s. That artist had 
mentioned that of late Rosalie looked '‘puffy,” and 
sometimes, so she did. When she returned home late 
in the afternoon, her hair riant , her eyes lambent, her 
streamers and filagree fluttering, glinting, chastening 
the eye, she found a note from Henley, and it men- 
tioned among other inconsequent things that Ida was 
without a governess and was bothered to death, and 
that she was going to Allison’s, the employment agency 
for the rich, to look for another. 

Rosalie got into her carriage again and went to 
Allison’s. The lately discharged German girl — the one 
who was recently governess for Mrs. Henley’s children — 
was on file, and Rosalie left directions that she should 
be sent to her. 

“I do not want a governess,” she mentioned, “but I 
need a maid of refinement and intelligence, and I am 
willing to pay a governess’s salary instead of a maid’s 
wages; I have seen the girl in her old place and should 
be glad to try her.” And the next day Henley’s ex- 
governess took Fifine’s place. Ida Henley would not 


3*4 


ALINE-ELISABETH 


3i5 


know, in the natural course of events, who Rosalie had 
for a maid. The rest of the month was given over to the 
milliner. The Van Vorst invitation covered the Van 
Vorst obligations for the greater part of the year. It 
was to be the Van Vorst function, and Rosalie’s 
Waterloo — she being Wellington. 

She saw Henley once, by accident. Nothing was said 
of the invitation nor of the girl. Henley knew where 
the girl was, and Rosalie knew that one swallow didn’t 
make a summer, and that she might as well not hold the 
Van Vorst invitation at all, as to meet with hostility 
later. And she knew, also, that Henley meant business. 
But these other people’s affairs didn’t interest her. 
She had engaged the girl. 

Meantime, the girl, unable to speak English either 
perfectly or imperfectly, heard only Rosalie’s voice — 
which was charming; and saw Rosalie’s face and form — 
which were ravishing; and admired her with an inclina- 
tion toward attachment. She was lonely, she was a 
soft little thing, able only to do as she was bid, and her 
presence was gentle and her eyes heavenly because they 
were wholly trusting ; her voice thrilled, because it was 
slightly appealing. She stroked Rosalie’s cat and did 
unobtrusively a thousand little things that a woman 
born to the service would never have thought of. Hers 
was the way of a refined nature, and an emotional and 
passionate one. Her devotion was marked, and Rosalie 
often noticed it in the haste and fever of her triumph. 
However, she did not value it. But the girl was thought- 
ful of the cat, and that commended her to Rosalie. 

The holidays had come and were several days gone, 
when Rosalie received a message one night from Henley 
while she was dawdling over a late toilette for a late 
engagement. The German girl was dressing her and 


3 l6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


she opened the note while her hair was being done. It 
wasn’t much and there was no signature. It said: 

“Will you lend me your maid to help out my service 
at supper to-night? I should like her to come to Al- 
bert’s studio, Square, at ten-thirty.” 

Rosalie frowned, looked sullen for a moment, then laid 
the note on her dressing table while she pulled the fluff 
of hair above her right ear. She caught the maid’s 
admiring regard in the mirror. After her hair was done 
she leaned over and wrote with a little gold- mounted pen- 
cil on the back of the note. Then she spoke in German: 

“I have a note from my brother,” she said. “He 
wants someone to help his man serve a little supper 
to-night. I’ll drop you at his place when I go — and 
I’ll — pick you up when I come home.” She wasn’t 
thinking it out very well. She was repeating what 
Henley wrote, while adding her own little fiction con- 
cerning the relationship. She felt a sudden apprehen- 
sion that the girl wouldn’t go, unless she said something 
of the sort. She didn’t intend to think much about the 
matter, that was all. 

The girl said “ /a,” in the softest, tenderest voice. 
Rosalie then ordered her dinner in her rooms, with the 
girl to wait upon her. 

Drayton came in with the purpose of dining at home, 
just as she left Rosalie’s rooms. He was stepping 
into the elevator, and turned and looked after her. He 
had some dim recollection of having seen her before, but 
he couldn’t think where. The face was not familiar, 
but the presence was. 

“Who’s that girl?” he asked of Grant. 

“Madam’s new maid ” 

“Ah! Fifine has gone?” 

“Yes sir.” 


ALINE-ELISABETH 


3i7 


Drayton went to his own apartment and then when he 
was sitting at dinner an hour later, the figure and 
presence of the girl crossed the path of his imagination 
again, and suddenly he shoved back his chair. 

She was the one he had seen long ago at the table 
d’hdte; and she was Aline- Elisabeth. Drayton couldn’t 
finish his dinner. He went into the library. His first 
impulse was to send for her and ask what she did there 
and tell her of the grief of the Germans in Houston 
Street; but discretion forbade, and he sent for his 
coat. Then a message from Wolfschon, which made 
Drayton stop at his house, delayed him on his way, 
and Rosalie and the girl left the Fifth Avenue house 
about the time Drayton finally got started for Houston 
Street. 

When Rosalie stopped in the Square named by Hen- 
ley she put his note into the girl’s hand. It bore the 
line of her own scribbling. 

“Give that to my brother,” she said, and to the chauf- 
feur, “ Hurry.” The girl went into the building. 

In going to Houston Street Drayton’s purpose was to 
inform the Germans that the girl was safe ; then to leave 
the management of the affair to them. He had no right 
to control her movements, and if he startled her she 
might leave post-haste and thus be lost to them again. 
His impatience grew upon him all the way down till, 
when he had reached the Houston Street lodging, he 
went up the stairs in leaps. Near the top he thought 
of Christopher’s condition. He was seemingly in good 
shape, but then, better not shock him even with favour- 
able news. Drayton took the last flight more leisurely 
and found Christopher alone. 

“Johann out?” he asked without any exhibition of 
excitement. 


IN HIGH PLACES 


3 l8 

“He has gone to a studio in Square, to play 

for something. Albert’s studio.” Drayton’s eyes 

smouldered. 

“A Henley orgie, eh? ” And he looked at Christopher. 
“Feeling pretty fair?” he asked. 

“Fine as mein fiddle. From Second Fiddle to Direc- 
tor — it giffs me once more some energy” — and he 
laughed. 

“Johann be late?” 

“I guess so. He is at dinner mit some folks — some 
German folks half a boar’s-head dinner at Weber’s offer 
in Third Avenue. He won’t begin at der studio till ten 
o’clock. Ja! I guess he will be late. What did you 
say about it?” He fiddled a dozen staccato notes. 

“Nothing particular. It’s one of Henley’s — er — re- 
sorts — he retires there to study — art or something of 
the kind. I .v. a little news, Christopher” — Chris- 
topher laid down his violin. 

“Drayton — it is” — Drayton nodded. The German 
got up and sat again, the blood rushing over his neck 
and face. 

“Don’t get excited now; but I think we’re on the 
right track. In fact, I saw her — she is a maid in a house 
I know. She is perfectly safe there and we’ll go up and 
see about it,” he said, beginning to speak rapidly, as 
Christopher was becoming painfully excited. “Sit 
down, sit down,” he entreated, gently forcing Chris- 
topher into his chair again. “Let us make some little 
plan before doing anything rash. You know you have 
no control over the girl: if she should not wish to go 
with you, you could do nothing about it; so on the whole 
— it — it might be better to wait till — Johann comes, 
don’t you think? ” Christopher felt some bewilderment, 
but was getting his bearings again. 


ALINE-ELISABETH 


3i9 


“Yes, yes, maybe that is so,” he answered, wiping 
his forehead, which was damp with sweat. “She is 
safe, Drayton?” 

“Absolutely. Now I’ll tell you — if it won’t upset 
you — I have found her in my own house. I don’t know 
how she got there — presumably Mrs. Drayton found 
her at an employment agency and hired her as her maid. 
I never saw her till to-night and don’t know how long 
she has been there. And we turning the town inside out 
for her! Humph! Well, it’s all right now, so brace up,” 
he said, giving Christopher’s hand a quick, firm grasp. 
“ It’s all right now. I told you it would turn out right 
— or — ” he thought of the situation in which it placed 
Christopher, and hesitated. 

“At any rate, it is ass right, I suppose, ass we can 
make it.” 

“We had better wait for Johann, don’t you think?” 

“Yes, that is right. We must wait for him. It will 
be very late.” 

“Well, at any rate she is in my house and perfectly 
safe. Shall we go out, or shall we wait here as patiently 
as you can?” 

“ If you can stand my fiddle,” Christopher said, draw- 
ing the violin toward him, and speaking interrogatively. 

“It’ll pass the time for me better than anything else 
in the world,” Drayton answered; and he settled 
himself in his chair, with his cigar alight, while Chris- 
topher drew his bow. 

That night’s performance was a wonderful one. Dray- 
ton remembered it all the years of his life. For a time 
Christopher bowed without finding himself — a cadenza , a 
volante , a sudden illumination of a dead moment, and 
then gradually there stole upon him an absorption. Dray- 
ton never forgot. 


20 


IN HIGH PLACES 


The passion of a lifetime spoke: the griefs, the agonis- 
ing, the patience, the gradual softening of sorrow — all 
the splendours of the player’s soul laid bare; a spirit 
free! As Drayton sat there, his eyes upon the man’s 
handsome face, under the hypnotism of the smoke which 
sometimes made vaporous curtains between, it seemed 
to him that the harmony of life was never again to be 
restored for him. All the moods which Drayton him- 
self had known seemed to pass in review before him. 
The flood of passionate sound brought the woman who 
had been for ten years a part of his fortunes, before him. 
He wanted that woman. That one woman and nothing 
else in life; nor money nor power nor other friends. 
Just that woman. And when his dream was at its 
climax, the men heard steps on the stair. 

“It is Johann,” Christopher said, putting down his 
violin and looking at Drayton. “What is it? — it is 
not time ” 

Drayton shook his head. “Ten minutes past eleven,” 
he said, and they sat facing toward the door. 

“It is something” — and Drayton and he got up. 
The sound without was now upon the last flight. ‘ ‘ There 
are two,” he began, and the door opened. It was 
Johann, and he had the girl, all pale and afraid and not 
seeing where she was. The men looked at each other 
and at her. Johann was a fearful spectacle. 

“You take care of her,” he said. “ I am going back.” 

“To play? What?” And the girl then threw her- 
self into his arms and called out something in German. 
Johann held her off, continually repeating that he was 
going back. 

“To play?” Christopher insisted. 

“No, no.” He was irritated and kept putting the 
girl away from him. “To kill, to kill! Why don’t you 


ALINE-ELISABETH 


321 


look after her? I am annoyed.” And the girl fell upon 
him more persistently. 

‘‘Sit down,” said Drayton, shaking him by the shoul- 
der. “Sit down — kill somebody afterward.” And as 
Drayton pushed him back in the chair, the girl had him 
at a disadvantage and threw herself upon him. 

“What is it — what has happened?” Christopher 
was very ill and looked first at one and then at the other, 
understanding nothing of the scene. The girl began to 
cry out in German and to speak in sighs and moans. 
Drayton couldn’t understand her, but whatever she was 
saying, at last had some effect upon Christopher. Chris- 
topher was looking at Drayton ; so, also, was Johann. All 
their attention was fixed upon him and it seemed un- 
favourable. He didn’t know what the girl was saying, 
but she was speaking of him. Suddenly Christopher 
shouted “ Nein ” and steadied himself by Drayton’s 
shoulder as he lurched forward. Nobody spoke. Jo- 
hann got up and stared at Drayton over the girl’s 
head. 

“ No,” he said. “ No, there is something wrong about 
it.” 

“About what? Speak up — in English,” he said, 
feeling exasperated. 

“She says she went from your house ” 

“Well, it’s true — she lives there,” he answered, and 
the Germans looked at him. “Didn’t I come to tell 
you so?” he demanded of Christopher. 

“Yes — he came to tell me so,” Christopher said to 
Johann. 

“What does she say?” 

“That she was sent from your house.” 

“Sent where?” he demanded, some sort of fright 
aroused in him without any seeming cause. 


322 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“Where I was playing. I had just played — I was 
then playing, and they were talking of her — all of them 
— five men — over the table; and I didn’t know it was 
to be her — but I was leaving. I couldn’t stand that. 
I wasn’t willing to play for them. It seems Gottlieb has 
always furnished the music — he has gone. It was some 
woman — and I wasn’t going to stay — and then it was 
she.” And he started toward the door, when the 
sobbing and cries from the girl recommenced. 

“Well, sit down, sit down; it’s no matter, it’s no 
matter,” said Drayton, not knowing what he said, and 
trying to shake a sudden horror from his shoulders. 
“Sit down — we’ll fix it. See here” — he turned to the 
girl — “here, what have you?” he asked, seeing an 
envelope crushed in her left hand. 

She ceased crying and looked. She had forgotten 
Henley’s note with Rosalie’s lines scribbled on the back 
of it; she had not delivered it. It was still held spas- 
modically. Drayton took it without ceremony. He 
read it on one side — Henley’s message. He turned it 
over and read the added line: “ I won’t have anything 
more to do with this.” That was written by Rosalie. 

Drayton did not speak for some time; although he 
tried again and again, he could not get control of his 
voice. At the first essay he could make no sound. By 
and by he said: 

“Will you tell me just what she said to you in 
German?” The others were quiet, awaiting some 
revelation. 

“It wass not true,” Christopher said, trying to sit 
up in his chair. “She said she wass sent by your 
wife to the place and — • — ” 

“All right — I know, never mind. Did she say who 
sent her?” 


ALINE-ELISABETH 


3 2 3 


4 'Your wife — to see her brother — to wait till she came 
from the opera to get her.” Drayton looked at them 
contemplatively . 

“What happened?” he asked of Johann. 

44 1 don’t know, I can’t remember — I brought her 
away. I had a fight with the heavy man. I don’t 
remember. I am going back now. You take care of her.” 

44 If you go back now — there will be arrests ” 

44 Yes — I am going to kill him and have him arrested.” 

The girl began to cry again. 

44 Don’t cry,” Drayton said, putting his hand reas- 
suringly upon her. 44 If you’ll wait a minute” — He 
stopped and earnestly looked at the two men, and the 
pain and wretchedness in his face fixed their attention. 
44 We have been friends — we three. She has told the 
truth — my — the woman with my name sent her — it is 
there in the note.” He pointed to the note, which lay 
upon the table where he had dropped it. 44 Her story, 
with the note and your evidence, will settle it, and my 
name” — he hesitated — 44 my name, you understand ” 

44 My Gott! We can’t do that — Johann” — Christo- 
pher called sharply, looking at Loscher, who sat looking 
at Drayton with burning eyes. 

4 4 The man ” 

44 1 maybe have killed him,” Loscher answered slowly. 

44 Then may I take the note?” Johann started from 
his seat ” 

44 And the woman not be punished?” 

44 Yes,” said Drayton, lightly weighing the envelope 
in his hand. 44 Yes, I am going to punish her — now.” 
And suddenly Johann’s rage faltered. 

44 She is a — woman after all; don’t — kill her,” he 
said, no longer meeting Drayton’s eye. 

44 I’ll take care of — her” he answered, and went out. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


WHEN DRAYTON SET HIS HOUSE IN ORDER 

W HEN Drayton left the Germans, his purpose was 
fixed. What would come to him later was to be 
seen, but now, with action imminent, he was fit. Rosalie 
was at home again. The hour was yet early — not yet 
midnight; and without any preliminaries, he went to her 
apartments. He experienced none of the blind anger 
that he had on two former occasions. He was thinking: 
‘‘There are things so bad that a man can’t feel much of 
anything.” 

Rosalie was in dressing-gown and slippers before the 
fire, reading with the cat across her breast. 

“Where’s your maid?” Drayton asked as he opened 
the door without ceremony. She was no longer a 
woman to whom ceremony was due; it was even 
ridiculous. 

“Where’s your maid?” he asked, in his usual tone. 
Rosalie looked around; she was surprised and did not 
speak at once. Then she said: 

“I though you were out — I dropped in at the Ells- 
worth’s.” Drayton did not attend to what she was 
saying. 

“You will have to get one of the servants to help you 
pack up. I will send you to whomever you want to go. 
You will have to leave here.” Rosalie remained lean- 
ing over the arm of her chair, looking up at him. 

“Which do you want to do about this thing then — 
divorce me, or go to the penitentiary?” he continued. 
3 2 4 


DRAYTON SETS HIS HOUSE IN ORDER 325 


Rosalie put the cat down gently and continued staring 
at him. 

'‘What — do you mean?” — she asked faintly. She 
had a premonition. 

Drayton took the note from his pocket and held it 
where she could identify it. She glanced at it and 
leaned back. 

“What if I did write it?” It was a thing she had 
rather not have been caught doing, but since she had 
been, she had no mind to pay any penalty, nor did she 
see any reason for so much fuss. 

“It means the penitentiary for you,” he said quietly, 
and she got up. 

“What?” 

“The penitentiary for you. I have promised to pun- 
ish you, or turn you over to the District Attorney who 
attends to such crimes, you understand.” 

“Crime?” she echoed. 

“Crime, Crime,” Drayton answered, without any in- 
flection. “The punishment is going to be divorce from 
me and retirement for you — to some place where you 
will have the comforts of life but none of its luxuries, 
and where you will come in contact with no one — • 
isolation for the rest of your life. It is necessary for 
the protection of society.” Rosalie was listening as if 
in a dream. 

“ Henley” — she gasped. 

“ I have no especial affair with Henley. He is in the 
hands of others. He is pretty badly hurt as it is, and 
will be made to leave the country. I shall see that he 
leaves his clubs ” 

“ I — I” — She put her hands to her throat as if suffocat- 
ing. “You can’t do it,” she gasped; “Henley would 
have paid her well.” Drayton looked at her as if she 


3 26 


IN HIGH PLACES 


were some curious animal. The situation was all 
impersonal to him. 

“ How will you have it? I can do that much for you 
— or for myself. Will you have the divorce and conduct 
your life hereafter as I shall prescribe, or will you go to 
the penitentiary ?” 

It seemed to her that the voice going on so evenly, 
so commonplacely, was more inexorable than anything 
she had yet experienced; even more inexorable than 
that society into which she had fought to get for so long. 
The thought of the Van Vorst invitation came to her: 
it was only two weeks off. 

“When?” she asked. 

“ Now.” 

“Not to-night?” 

“Yes; you have discovered unsatisfactory things about 
me and you can’t live in the house overnight. You under- 
stand ? I shall send some one with you whom I can trust to 
keep an eye on you. ’ ’ Rosalie no longer recognised herself. 
She had a dreadful sensation of falling: the sensation 
which precedes syncope, yet she was not going to faint. 

“I won’t do it,” he said at last, with an explosive 
tone which was almost a shout. 

“Very well,” Drayton answered, getting up and turn- 
ing toward the door. 

“Wait, wait,” she called. She was frightened, but 
she was angry, because she saw no adequate cause for 
all that was happening to her. She didn’t know that 
there was a name given to the thing she had done, and 
if she had known she would have failed to grasp the 
import of her crime. There was nothing especially 
immoral about her; simply she had no moral sense at 
all. However, she was afraid of Drayton. He paused, 
but did not turn back nor look at her. 


DRAYTON SETS HIS HOUSE IN ORDER 327 


“I do not know what this is all about. It was a 
risk because the girl might have suspected something 
and not gone; but to treat me like this” — Drayton 
started to go — “But if you’ve made up your mind,” 
she went on hastily. She was afraid of something 
esoteric, something uncomprehended happening to her 
if he left before they came to terms. 

“If you have made up your mind — I shall get the 
divorce. Only one thing — just one thing — you see I 
can’t go away now — not to-night — not for a few days. 
I — I’m not well; I have a bad head and pain — I don’t 
know what. Let it be for a few days — till I get packed 
up and — and” — She looked about, trying to register her 
words in her own mind and realise what was happening. 
“ If you will let me stay in the house a few days because 
I am — -not well — then ” 

She was not well. She spoke the truth, yet she did 
not know that she was especially ill. Drayton came 
back to the fire and stood folding the note about his 
fingers. 

“If it is perfectly understood that a week hence you 
leave this house forever, and during the following week 
file a petition against me for divorce ” 

“I’ll name that Merideth woman,” she said suddenly, 
throwing at him a strange vicious flash from under her 
lids. 

“No, you won’t! You’ll name Jane Doe. It is 
understood then — you leave here a week hence? ” That 
was a week before the Van Vorst function. Drayton 
didn’t even know that she had the invitation. She 
trusted to luck to pull herself through that. “During 
the following week you begin proceedings, and from 
that moment you retire — as befits a woman who has 
devotedly loved her husband and finds that love 


3 28 


IN HIGH PLACES 


betray ed.” Drayton smiled in spite of himself, the 
situation was so grotesque a one. 

“See here,” she spoke after a frowning moment, 
during which she regarded everything but Drayton — 
“See here, Trowbridge Drayton, you know I’m a per- 
fectly virtuous woman.” Her manner was one of re- 
sentment, anxiety and insistence. Perhaps nothing 
had ever more aroused Drayton’s analytical interest 
than this speech. 

“I am absolutely sure of it,” he answered after a 
moment, and Rosalie leaned back, relieved. 

“Absolutely virtuous,” she said, “and could go 
anywhere.” 

“Without a doubt,” Drayton said, and her acquies- 
cence in his plan was now understood. As a virtuous 
woman, her immoralities were not likely to be taken 
into much account. The situation had a sociological 
interest for Drayton. Nothing to do with her seemed 
any longer personal to him. As he closed the door 
behind him, the Persian cat jumped back upon Rosalie’s 
lap, seeking its former comfortable resting place. 

She was distracted, and now that the restraint of 
Drayton’s presence was withdrawn, the wicked temper 
which ever smouldered within her and which frequently 
broke upon her servants, possessed her like a demon. For 
the first time in her life she was unmindful of the cat’s 
comfort and gave it a sudden push, unconscious of what 
she did. It unsheathed its claws and struck deep. 
The pain had the effect of bringing her to her senses, 
and with a remorseful action, she took the cat to her, 
abstractedly murmuring placative and endearing words. 
The scratch burned, and was a reminder of her ingrati- 
tude toward a creature which had ever accommodatingly 
warmed itself in her bosom, and made no return — till now. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


HOW IT CAME TO THE SECOND FIDDLE 

T HE next morning, Drayton went to the office as 
usual, but couldn’t attend to business. He tried again 
and again without success to fix his mind upon matters 
of importance. He assumed it was what he had just 
passed through which so distracted him. Then he felt 
he still owed something to the Germans; he didn’t knov/ 
what; so at four o’clock he left the Broad Street place 
to go to Houston Street. His man Bernie was watching 
his wife. He had said the night before, upon leaving 
Rosalie’s rooms: 

“ Mrs. Drayton is not to leave the house except to take 
the air. She understands this, and you will go on the 
box with the coachman.” Bernie had said: 

“Yes, sir.” Rosalie would be seen no more in other 
people’s houses, notwithstanding the bulwark of her per- 
sonal virtue. 

Down in Houston Street the men had spent the night 
in trying to induce something like tranquillity in Aline- 
Elisabeth. Her fear of something only half understood 
was very pitiable, and her hysteria was still in full swing 
at midnight. They feared, on Drayton’s account, to 
call a physician. The less said about it, the better. 
Some way, even Loscher was convinced that the punish- 
ment Drayton had undertaken would surpass anything 
they were likely to originate on inquisitorial lines. The 
night before, Drayton had sent three words to Henley 
by Bernie, and Henley had received them in his 
3 2 9 


330 


IN HIGH PLACES 


rooms about the time Rosalie was listening to Dray- 
ton. Drayton had written, “Leave the country.” 
And the words were as potent as Loscher’s blows 
had been — which was very potent indeed. He was 
going to leave. 

When morning came, Aline-Elisabeth was enervated 
and depressed, and still lay on the couch where she had 
been all night, tended by Johann and Christopher with 
great tenderness ; but at noontime she roused and spoke 
of going away. 

“Yes,” Christopher said, “if you are strong enough; 
and now you and Johann are going out to be married, 
right off alreatty, schon! There is no use to talk, it is 
settled, /a/” he continued, as she made some feeble 
protest. 

“Yes, it is all settled,” Johann added, definitely. 

“And then we shall be all ass happy ass. It will be 
ausgezeich — out — out-of-sight* — ’ ’ he finished tentatively, 
looking at Johann for confirmation of his translation, 
conscientiously appropriated from the boy of the street; 
for thus another section of the American language had 
come into being. That condition which should be 
enjoyed henceforth by the three so dear to each other 
should be ausgezeichnet — “out-of-sight,” so beautiful! 
so to be desired! Thus the final act in the drama of 
these men’s lives was adjusted, and at three o’clock, 
Aline-Elisabeth and Johann, with many endearing 
assurances from Christopher, left the place. Christo- 
pher sat down on the bench where he had brightened 
and curled the dogs. There were no dogs now, but he 


♦This philological curiosity was given to me by the Rev. Hobart B. Whitney 
of St. John’s Parish, Essex, N. Y. It is a very logical development of English 
slang from a German word, so familiar to the Second Avenue section of the 
East Side in New York. — D. B. 


HOW IT CAME TO THE SECOND FIDDLE 331 

handled the irons and abstractedly moved the apparatus 
about, feeling all of the time the persistent hurt about 
the heart which he had been able hardly to resist since 
the night before when Johann had entered with Aline- 
Elisabeth. 

He had difficulty in concealing his physical torture, 
but circumstances had favoured him; the excitement, 
the demands of others had enabled him to keep his own 
condition in the background. Now that he was alone, 
he could abandon himself. 

After a time of moving about, he sat at the table, 
and there in the early coming twilight of the late fall, 
he drew his fiddle toward him. He tried to fix his mind 
on the future. 

“I shall be Director, ” he thought. “I shall make 
my name as in der F atherland. ’ ’ It was the ‘ ‘ Fatherland ’ 1 
to him for the first time in America, to-day. Perhaps 
because for the first time he felt truly alien and out of 
place. He thought with longing of Vienna, with his 
hand over his heart, trying to still the pain that filled 
all his great expanse of chest. Johann had long since 
bought the clock with which he and Aline-Elisabeth were 
going to keep house: the clock with its works all on the 
outside! And now, as Christopher sat alone in the dusky 
hour, its tick was very loud and insistent. He looked 
up at it and smiled. 

“ I wish it wass time for der leettle bird to come out,” 
he thought idly, and his thoughts shifted to the kitchen 
Aline-Elisabeth would have up in Harlem over the bake- 
shop. Johann would wipe the dishes for her. He had 
a sudden vision of this — Aline-Elisabeth ’s snow-white 
arms and Johann in the doorway. 

“ Ach! It is der leettle things,” he gasped, and leaned 
forward heavily upon the table. After a while, the 


332 


IN HIGH PLACES 


bird came out of the clock and marked the hour with 
a queer aborted bird-sound; otherwise all was quite 
still. 

When Drayton finally opened the door, the Second 
Fiddle was full an hour past caring. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE RULING PASSION, STRONG 

D RAYTON came and went after that, making no 
sign at home or abroad of the tremendous revo- 
lution going on within. Henley had left the country. 
Bemie had no communication to make concerning 
Rosalie. Drayton went from his office to his club, and 
entered his house never before one o'clock in the morning. 
He refused an invitation to dine at the Wolf schons’, for no 
special reason but that he was setting his house in order, 
and if it were done, it were “well ’twere done quickly ’’ 
and without interruptions. Christopher was buried. 
Drayton had buried him. It was his affair. More than 
that, they were brothers in misfortune. He had said 
little to Johann, but Johann had abandoned all to 
him, knowing by instinct that it was better so. Aline- 
Elisabeth and Johann were married, and he could not 
yet tear himself from the rooms in which he and his 
more-than-brother had lived all of their days in America. 

“ If you will stay, I should be glad — and next week 
we shall go to Harlem," he had asked of Aline-Elisabeth, 
who had softly acquiesced. Christopher had been her 
uncle — more than that: since she need not fear him, 
she thought of him tenderly and with all a tender 
woman’s softness. She had pressed her small hands 
on his dead face and wept. 

She went about putting together the dead German’s 
things with a loving hand, and obtruding little upon 
Johann. They were going to be very happy, always, 

333 


334 


IN HIGH PLACES 


but not just yet. Everything was in abeyance, yet sure 
to come. Drayton felt it in the wind. One night when 
he got in a little past one o’clock, Bernie was awaiting 
him. Bernie was not embarrassed by the situation: 
he was Drayton’s, body and soul, if need be. He was 
discreet, and he was pained by Drayton’s situation, 
which had been confided only to him, and only partially 
confided at that. 

Drayton found him on the elevator when he let him- 
self in, and knew he had something to communicate. 
He went at the matter in hand without circumlocution. 

“Mrs. Drayton has not left her apartments since you 
spoke to me about it, sir.” 

“Ah?” Drayton answered non-committally, as the 
elevator started. 

“ She is — very ill, sir.” 

“Ah?” said Drayton again, in the same tone. 

“I beg your pardon — but it is very serious, she 
has been ill for several days.” Drayton looked 
at his man. This time he said nothing. “The doctor 
wishes to see you. It will have to be to-night. I was 
to ’phone him whenever you got in. I sent to the 
club, and to Mr. Wolfschon’s, but couldn’t find you.” 
Drayton had been in Houston Street, where his thoughts 
were. The funeral had taken place the day before. 

“Can’t you tell me what the doctor wishes me to 
know — without — ? ” He spoke coldly, without curiosity. 

“ I think not, sir. I think — you will have to see him 
yourself.” 

“Swaylling?” 

“Doctor Abbott is in attendance.” Drayton looked 
at him again and left the elevator. 

“You understand the circumstances?” he asked, 
wishing to avoid consultation with anybody. 


THE RULING PASSION, STRONG- 


335 


“Yes, sir/’ and Bemie’s tone seemed to close the 
matter. 

“Telephone that I am here,” he said, and went into 
his own library. There he sat without moving, or 
without any sign of restlessness. He was long past 
that. Abbott came in less than twenty minutes. Dray- 
ton and he were friends. 

“You needed to speak with me about — about Mrs. 
Dray ton ?” Abbott eyed him curiously. 

“Very much. She has a bad arm. Some men would 
— operate — now — in the morning — or at once; and yet, 
I do not advise it.” Drayton sat looking at him. 

“What about her arm?” he said at last, in so strange 
a manner that his physician friend was unable to inter- 
pret him. He had long since interpreted Rosalie, and 
it occurred to him now that maybe Drayton as well 
had learned the lesson of Rosalie. However, he wasn’t 
curious. 

“You know she got scratched by that cat of hers — ” 
Abbott deeply despised Rosalie’s cat. “ She is poisoned, 
and before she called anybody in, she was in a bad way. 
The matter had run a week. She — ” Abbott paused, 
looking at Drayton over the tips of his fingers, which 
were joined. 

“Go on,” Drayton prompted. 

“She takes opium; absinthe in the morning — and 
several details of that sort are all against her. She was 
in a bad way before I was called — there are other 
things.” 

“ Why haven’t you performed the operation? ” Dray- 
ton was not cruel, He was about like a dead man. 

“ Well if I should advise it she wouldn’t have it done — 
till after the seventeenth. She wants to be fixed up 
for that date.” His tone didn’t imply anything. 


33 6 


IN HIGH PLACES 


“It will save her life to operate ?” 

“I am not answering for anybody’s life; no, it won’t. 
You’ll have to go up and speak with her. She is delirious 
part of the time — half off, half herself, but able to resist 
and run her own affairs. And she knows about the con- 
dition of her arm and fears an operation — before the seven- 
teenth. She has a nurse and everything else ; I suppose, 
of course, you — you — ” He paused again and regarded 
Drayton. 

“ Certainly,” he said, and rose. “We will go up now.” 
And he passed out ahead of Abbott. Abbott didn’t 
attend the Smart Set. His were all good families. He 
had never been able to help speculating upon just how 
much of a fool Drayton was. “ You will remember that 
I said there were complications, and that grave as the 
poisoning from that cat is, I do not advise an operation.” 

They went into Rosalie’s rooms without hesitation. 
Two nurses were there and one of the housemaids. She 
had secured no one for her personal service since the night 
she had sent Aline- Elisabeth away. Now she lay with 
all the signs of acute suffering about her. The cat was 
upon the bed. 

“Throw the cat out of the window,” Abbott 
mentioned. 

“No,” said Drayton, “it doesn’t matter. Don’t do 
anything she doesn’t wish.” And he went to the bed 
and stood looking down at her. “I don’t know any- 
thing about it,” he said, “but I think she is going to die.” 
He spoke in his usual tone, only it was muffled below 
Rosalie’s hearing. She took no notice of him after the 
first moment, when she had frowned and thrown herself 
away from him. 

“Rosalie,” he said, raising his voice, “you are very 
ill. The doctor wants to ” 


THE RULING PASSION, STRONG 


337 


“You can get out of this room — both of you,” she 
said. “ He's told me. I won't have it. I'll get out of 
this bed on the seventeenth if it kills me. If you can't 
fix me up for that,” she said to Abbott, “you can go. I 
am going out on the seventeenth. You can cut my 
throat after that, but you shan’t touch me till then, 
unless you ” 

Drayton and the Doctor moved away from the bed. 

“You know it won’t save her life?” Drayton asked. 

“No, it won’t save her life — only if I operate she 
would probably die of something else.” Drayton again 
approached the bed but she had trailed off into 
incoherence. 

“Let her be,” said Drayton, leaving the room, and 
Abbott went down into the library with him. 

Down below he stared about him and felt blindly for 
the chair that was just behind him, and Abbott steered 
him into it. 

“You will have to explain things,” he said; and 
though his tone was distracted, Abbott, friend as well 
as physician, knew that the distraction was mental, 
not emotional. 

“Well, she has an acute nephritis — Bright’s,” he 
added. There was no need to be very explicit. Drayton 
understood that what Abbott said was final, and that 
was all he was able to concern himself with. 

“Is there anything ” 

“No, nothing ” 

“When- ” 

“I can’t say; this arm and that — it is all grave — 

fatal and will be prompt. ’ ’ Then he went away feeling 

a good deal more concern for Dray ton than for the woman ; 
but then he had had a cynical contempt for the woman, 
ever since he had first attended her (so many things 


338 


IN HIGH PLACES 


happen with physicians), which was from the time 
Drayton had married. 

After Abbott had gone, Drayton remained in his 
library, not going again to the room above, where his 
presence was as unwelcome to her, as it was painful 
to him. He didn't go to his bed, nor to his club. But 
he went to his office the next morning as usual, Abbott 
staying in the house that night. When he left the office 
at the usual hour, having no message to return home 
earlier, he went directly to his library. He did not 
dine, nor make any inquiry. Bernie attended him, to 
what extent Drayton seemed to need attention. There 
were three days like this, one in all respects like the 
others. He did not even see the papers, but Wolfschon 
and Stebbins asked after Rosalie in a tone which 
indicated all. The papers had said that she was dying. 
Wolfschon had said to Rebecca the evening before: 

‘‘I wonder if you ought to go over there. I don’t 
know what to do about Drayton when anything happens 
to him — it issn’t like other folks.” 

“You keep still and don’t do anything. I guess we 
don’t know much about it except — there’s Cheen 
Merideth.” 

“What about her?” Wolfschon asked, leaning across 
the table in his search for information. Rebecca 
looked at him. 

“Tch!” she said, with a little click of her tongue, 
and continued her dinner, with a cold-bloodedness 
peculiar even to the tenderest of women under certain 
circumstances. 

“Well, I guess you better go.” 

“I guess we had better mind our business just now. 
I’ll attend to all that — and don’t you say too much at 
the office. You let Drayton alone.” And Wolfschon 


THE RULING PASSION, STRONG- 


339 


had been discretion itself. On the night of the seven- 
teenth, Drayton had sat from four until ten o’clock in 
his box of a room, thinking nothing, caring nothing. 
The fulness of the situation was not yet upon him. 
Abbott had stepped into the room a few times, but the 
men had said nothing to each other. Drayton recalled 
with mechanical exactitude that this was the seventeenth, 
the night that Rosalie was to have arisen and gone forth. 

She had been ill for two weeks. Just before ten, while 
he sat studying the blotter on his desk and trying to 
make out the backward impression of some long-ago 
blotted word, Bemie entered. 

“Mrs. Drayton wants you to come sir,” he said, and 
stood looking anxiously at Drayton. 

“I can’t go. I am busy — let me know if it is 
important.” 

There was a horror upon him. He never wanted to 
look upon her in her moment of desolation. Her 
physical completeness had been all there was of her. 
He felt no sorrow, only a fearful panic against the time 
when he must look upon her as she was now: marked 
by desperate illness. It was a kind of humiliation for 
her. She was now less than naught to herself, just as 
she had long since been to him. 

“It is important, sir. She — she has something to 
say to you. She will give the message to no one else. 
Dr. Abbott is here — but she must see you. It is some- 
thing on her mind, sir. She — she — ” Drayton rose. 
An important message! That meant she was dying, 
Drayton guessed. When people died, the past! — Dray- 
ton didn’t know, but he thought of how he might feel. 
He might even want to say some — some human thing 
even to her. He now thought it quite likely, as 
improbable as he had felt that to be a moment ago. 


340 


IN HIGH PLACES 


He was thinking something of this sort as he walked 
ahead of Bemie. When he opened the door, he heard 
nothing. When he got inside, Abbott and a couple of 
nurses were at the bed. All of them drew back when 
he came in. Drayton looked down at her and prepared 
himself to take her hand which was moving weakly, aim- 
lessly through the fur of the cat that slept close under 
her arm. 

Men and women are kind; the trivial distractions of 
this life pass when death arrives. Drayton had never 
seen anyone die. Christopher had been dead when he 
had entered his room. Drayton’s mother had died 
when Drayton was abroad. But death had ever seemed 
a solemn thing to him. That inexorable, inevitable, 
immutable death! 

His hand went toward hers as he bent down. She 
seemed at first hardly to know of his presence. He 
meant to speak and tell her he was there. He hoped 
his voice would have a tender note in it. It seemed 
to him she must need it so fearfully. All gone — all the 
purfles and the roses and the radiant glance and move- 
ment, and the peculiar vibrant, metallic voice. 

She observed him before he spoke. She didn’t raise 
her hand, and Drayton stood bent over her, his own 
hand half out, to seek the weakly restless one that 
moved in the cat’s fur. Her eyes sent forth a final 
furtive gleam. “The Van Vorsts — they’ll come to the 
funeral — promise — promise” — And she uttered the last 
word with so much vehemence that Drayton drew back 
from the bed. It startled him, sounding as it did through 
the menacing silence of the room. And her dying spasm 
had again disturbed the cat, who in turn again struck at 
her; but it didn’t matter. And Drayton had not time to 
promise. He thought of it afterward and was sorry. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


WHEN REBECCA TRAINED FATE 

S HE was to be buried on Friday. Since that mid- 
night hour on Tuesday, Drayton had retired to 
his library as before, and had seen no one but Bemie. 
But Rebecca Wolfschon was in the house. Drayton 
was by no means alone. The morning after, she had 
called and had not asked for Drayton, but for Drayton's 
man. Bemie had stood before her. 

“You know me, my man,” she had said briskly, and 
Bemie had signified properly that he did. “Mr. Wolf- 
schon and I are distressed for Mr. Drayton. I do not 
want to see him, unless it is best. You are to tell me 
precisely what he is doing now and what he has been 
doing.” Bemie being a discriminating man, hesitated 
but a moment. 

“He is in his library, Madam, just as he has sat for 
several days. I do not think he is ill. I have not gone 
near him — when he knew it; but I am not letting him 
think about anything. I am thinking — everything I 
can— for him.” 

“You are an all-right man,” Rebecca said heartily. 
“And you go on just ligue that. And when you think 
Mr. Drayton needs something different, you come and 
tell me. I am going to stay here in the house till” — 
and till when, was understood. After that, Rebecca 
practically took charge of Drayton's affairs, which was 
quite natural in the circumstances, the families sup- 
posedly being intimate. Drayton had heard none of 
34i 


342 


IN HIGH PLACES 


the ugly details belonging to such moments. He had 
not thought of them. He was not busy with the thought 
that she was dead, but unconsciously busy with certain 
inchoate, metaphysical details. There were basic facts 
of life which had shaken Drayton to his foundation dur- 
ing these past two or three years. He was facing them. 
He was trying to fit things together. As a matter of 
fact, he was getting lower each moment. The situation 
was one naturally to depress him, and the two years 
past weighed upon him with their universal problems 
in a way to crush him; his thoughts of late had taken 
morbid ways. He kept recalling how, right in his own 
house, there had within the month been committed 
one of those heinous crimes for which penitentiaries 
exist, at which even bad people shudder, which honest 
people execrate. It had taken place directly there in 
Drayton’s own household, in the “bosom of a man’s 
family.” It was pretty bad. 

During two days he had eaten, but without being 
conscious of it. This was the result of Bemie’s unin- 
termittent devotion. Bernie had suggested with infinite 
patience and in infinite ways that Drayton should eat, 
and sometimes he had done so. During this last after- 
noon Drayton had gone to his rooms and had thrown 
himself upon his bed, all dressed as he was. Bernie had 
reported to Rebecca, while she was superintending some 
readjustments of the drawing-room against the per- 
formance of the next day’s ceremonies. 

‘ ‘ That iss good ! W atch if he sleeps. If he sleeps he will 
be all right.” And she had continued her supervision. 
Wolfschon stopped in for her on his way from the office. 

“ I guess he will be all right,” she said. 

“I wish he had some chiltren,” Wolfschon mentioned 
reflectively. 


WHEN REBECCA TRAINED FATE 343 


“ I think I nefTer saw any woman with so little sense 
ass every man,” she answered reassuringly, and when 
Wolfschon had looked at her protestingly, she had 
waved him aside and said: 

“Oh, neffer mind, neffer mind, Louis! I don’t expect 
a man to haff any particular sense about anything” — 
and Wolfschon had regarded Rebecca as slightly over- 
wrought. 

Drayton awakened late in the night. He didn’t 
know the time, but it was as a fact a little after two 
o’clock. His first sensation was energetic, but the 
circumstances gradually settled upon him again, and 
he realised them anew; nevertheless there was a change 
for the better in his condition. Bernie, who had dozed 
on the divan in his dressing-room, knew it the moment 
he heard him moving about. There was something 
of a former elasticity in his step. Presently Drayton 
came out of his bedroom, and seeing Bernie, said: 

“Not gone to bed, my man! Hadn’t you better go? 
It must be late, I think.” The old familiar Drayton! 
Bernie feared to speak, lest Drayton should be jarred by 
the note of elation he was certain he could not keep from 
his voice. Hence, he smiled, nodded and went out. 
Drayton followed him presently, but went down the 
corridor, turned to his left and found himself before 
Rosalie’s door. He opened it gently and found a man 
sitting on one of the straight-backed chairs, reading. 
He hastily put the book in his pocket. Drayton nodded 
and passed through. Just within the dressing-room door 
he hesitated, but only for an instant. He had come to 
see Rosalie. He saw her — saw something which he 
knew to be she. He had had no photograph in his mind 
of how things would be. He was almost unacquainted 
with death. Christopher had lain a peaceful, indeed 


344 


IN HIGH PLACES 


almost jolly, great creature, full of benevolence and good 
cheer, even in death. Drayton had carried only regret, 
no apprehension nor abnormal disturbances, away from 
the Houston Street rooms. There he had seen death 
in its fullest majesty. Now he hesitated as he crossed 
the room. He stood for some moments beside the cov- 
ered figure before he put forth his hand. In the interim 
his mind became busy with a beautiful face and form 
peculiarly vital and warm. There was nothing espe- 
cially personal in his mental undertakings. She wasn't 
his — simply something which he had lived to clothe and 
aggrandise and assist in its physical perfection. While 
these things passed, he drew down the sheet that cov- 
ered her face. The half-light that came from over 
Drayton's shoulder helped to emphasise his horror. The 
lips were a little contracted, and Drayton saw her teeth: 
little incisor-like things that looked more dead than 
the rest of her. She did not look like anyone Drayton 
had ever seen before. Sickening suddenly he pulled 
the sheet over her and went out. As he went down the 
corridor again, unsteadily, he thought: 

“She was virtuous — she could have gone anywhere — 
she said so herself" — moreover, Drayton knew it was 
true. She had even got an invitation to the Van — 
Drayton was taken violently sick and continued so till 
morning. There seemed no reason for it, but Abbott 
said it was much as if he had taken some irritant poison. 
The daylight helped him out, and if he felt used up, yet 
he was on his feet for the funeral. Nobody saw him at 
the funeral. Rebecca arranged things. When it seemed 
more discreet to do so than not, she mentioned with 
inimitable sang-froid that Mr. Drayton was “prostrated 
mit his affliction." And so he was, for that matter! 
But after it was all over, the insistent reporter wanted 


WHEN REBECCA TRAINED FATE 345 

to see how he took his prostration, and got at 
Bemie. 

“Oh, no, you can’t see him, sir. I am sorry, but 
Mr. Drayton” — Drayton was in his library and dimly 
heard the conversation just without, and with no very 
clear idea of what he was doing, he stepped to the door. 
Rebecca and Wolfschon were across the hall looking 
after things. Drayton nodded at them, and said to the 
reporter: 

“I am willing to see you — for a moment. What is 
it you want to know? ” 

The reporter wasn’t exactly sure, but he said some- 
thing reportorially appropriate. 

“I shall close the house,” Drayton answered to what- 
ever it was. “That is all. There is nothing of interest,” 
and he started to shut the door; then he opened it 
again. “And,” he said, realising in a way for what he 
had opened it, “you may speak of the magnificent 
floral tributes sent by the Van Vorsts.” 

Rebecca, across the hall, hooked up her cloak as the 
reporter got into the elevator. 

“No one effer holds dos papers responsible for what 
they say,” she remarked in a safe and satisfactory tone. 
“And now I’ll get Mr. Drayton.” Wolfschon waited 
anxiously in the hall. “ Get your master’s coat, Bemie,” 
she said, opening the library door. 

“Well, well, I guess it iss pretty near night, Mr. Dray- 
ton. We shall just get home for dinner! Maxie wass 
saying the other day that you hadn’t had dinner mit us 
for the longest time.” Bemie was holding Drayton’s 
coat, and Drayton was getting into it without knowing 
it, and Rebecca was seeming to do several noisy and 
energetic things about the room. 

“ Dear, dear me! Dos chairs mit their stuffings coming 


34 ^ 


IN HIGH PLACES 


out must be all fixed up before they are gone right avay,” 
she said. “You shust send them to the upholsterer’s 
to-morrow,” she said, addressing Bernie, who dutifully 
answered: 

“Yes, Madam.” And Wolfschon was standing hat 
in hand in the doorway, looking usual and pleasant, and 
Drayton found himself outside the house, never after- 
ward being able to recall how it happened. As a 
flood of light and cheer rushed at him from the Wolf- 
schons* door a few moments later, Rebecca remarked 
casually: 

“Shust make yourself at home in der library; Cheen 
will entertain you — and Louis, you come up while I 
chanche my dress! I haff something to say to you.” 

Drayton did not turn about, but he paused an inappre- 
ciable part of a second: Rebecca Wolfschon ’s words 
were just a part of the dream! 

It was all dream and dead hope until he had actually 
opened the door; had actually beheld her, again with 
that rare illumination in her eyes that he had seen last 
on the morning when she had gone from him, forever, so 
far as either could know. 

Drayton couldn’t go toward her, nor seem to help 
himself in the least. To-morrow he would be a worthy 
member of the firm, but to-day he was just a boy who 
had been lost and who was found, and who was so spent 
and worn that the sudden experience of home and cheer 
and love and life found him with quivering lip, and 
mute voice. 

“If you’ll come here,” he said, after a minute, and 
holding out his arms. The tone was a plea, and after 
a little, when sensation came back to his limbs and the 
warmth of steady, vibrant life once more stole through 
all his veins, he said: 

1 R D - 8 3 * 


WHEN REBECCA TRAINED FATE 347 


“And never since that morning to have been even in 
the same room together — but once.” 

“Twice!” she said. “Twice — the night I came back 
to America — and then that night in the dark — back in 
the office — -the night after I left — and you came” — 
Drayton looked at her, wonderingly. 

“You were there?” She nodded, and pressed her 
face to his arm as she had pressed her face to the empty 
sleeve of his coat long ago. “You were there, and I was 
there, and you didn’t say ” 

“I didn’t know — — 

“That I loved you?” She shook her head. “But 
I was there — alone, in the dark, crying out with ” 

“But I couldn’t know it was for me.” He regarded 
her with amazement. 

“If you had known?” — he asked, half under his 
breath. Jean only glanced at him. “It matters very 
little, now,” she said. 

Then Drayton shook his shoulders in the old way, 
and something seemed to slip from them which left him 
erect and fine. 

— “And I tell you Louis, if you leaf things by themselves, 
they’ll almost always gom out right!” 

“Well, I don’t know! Fate is ligue Crothers’s figures 
— sometimes you’ve got to train it,” bellowed Wolf- 
schon, as he opened the door. 






































































































































































































































































































































































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